


Knight of Smuts

by medical_mechanica, Verdin



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: AFAB Asra (The Arcana), Anal Sex, Angst, Blood Magic, Blood and Injury, Bondage, Broken people, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Coersion, Consentacles, Creampie, F/M, Hand Job, Lady Apprentice, Lots of Sex, M/M, Male presenting nipples, Naughty but flowery, PWP, Sensation Play, Sex, Size Difference, Vouyerism, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 07:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16868590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medical_mechanica/pseuds/medical_mechanica, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdin/pseuds/Verdin
Summary: As the title suggets, we'll collect various naughty pairings here. Don't expect anything like overarching plot.1) Nevermore: Julian meets the Hanged Man and gets more than he asked for2) Backstreet: Muriel takes out frustration and loneliness on a not so innocent or unwilling victim3) Consent: Asra has a bad dream, or is it something else? Contains violence and blood magic4) Hideaway: Muriel gets visited by the apprentice, and things don't go the way he imagined5) Judging: Valerius can't sleep and would do everything to get some rest. Everything.6) Bath: All the young consul wanted was some time away from all those stressful people at the party, but all he got was the most stressful of them all.7) Kitchen: Muriel comes back to visit the apprentice in her peaceful little shop. Part 2 of Hideaway (because they are so cute, okay?)8) Masquerade: Asra decides to carry things further than a just kiss after Muriel confesses his affection (AFAB Asra)For requests and suggestions, visit us at ilyarium.tumblr.com or say hello at verdinium.tumblr.com <3





	1. Nevermore (Hanged Man/Julian)

The wood _stirred._

__

 

The dusky clouds above timed to an uncertain clock, it was neither day or night. A heavy weight settled into the air; miasma clung to everything in the swamp. Something, or some _one_ , had entered his realm, and was stomping their way through the place. As a crow’s eye narrowed from afar, cloaked in shadow, the commander of the space condensed onto a branch.

Below, a scared, hapless pale creature, _human_ , trudged around, breaking branches, shouting, causing a ruckus.

With a sharp twist of his head, The Hanged Man cawed, a loud echoing sound that reverberated throughout the swamp, but remained where he stood shrouded by the wood.

Julian Devorak, kind of an important person in his own head, shuddered. This wasn't what he had expected, but then, what could be expected from a place like this? Horrible magical nonsense, and last hopes, and despair. _Despair_. It was in the air he breathed, and it filled him up even more here than it had before.

It was the despair that had brought him there, surrounded by a mess of trees, vines, brambles, lit only by the faint glow of a perpetual half dawn, or sunset, it was hard to tell.

It was the same despair that caught the attention of the winged entity that ruled there. Despair that sat in the pit of the woods, forcing time to ungracefully pass, puddles to shudder, wood to _shift_. It sat, crushing and crumpling up the space around it, and it might as well have been the very fabric of time and space eating itself alive. With a deep inhale and bleat of dark wings, a heavy wind picked up, tearing through Devorak, knocking him back.

The shadows moved in the corner of his eyes, and the sound of branches arching in the distance drew near.

 _No, no, no, this could not be_. His eyes widened, and he briefly had the instinct to run. Tried to withstand, to be brave, like Asra had told him to be, but his feet were already taking flight, stumbling through water and vines.

All too quickly, the trees about him _curled_ , reaching for him, dampened vines hooking around his ankles, bringing him to his knees with a splash. A flock of wings sounded throughout, a string of caws and cries following, shadows encroaching on all sides. A state of panic descended on Julian, and rushed to untangle himself. He didn’t notice his eyepatch falling away, as he only found himself hoisted by several entwined vines overlapping and leaning and _weaving_ around his legs and hips. Branches cracked and he was lifted upside down by one leg, wrists only further entangled as he struggled.

It was all enough to distract him from the dark figure that had formed before him, from out of nothing, upside down to his eye. A man - not a bird? - with the most amused expression a crow could wear, eyed him curiously. The doctor doubletaked.

“No, no, no, don't be like that, I'm not edible, and probably not very healthy in case I am, and--“ The vines seemed to answer by becoming even tighter, painfully cutting into his flesh. _Not that he didn't have enough problems already. Damn you, Asra, damn you_.

If the creature could look amused, Julian could swear that it did. “I dare say that you _are_ in fact edible, but you _would_ probably taste horrible.” The creature, the Hanged Man, voice a warm, light baritone, commented as he watched the hapless man twist until vines had slowly reached around his neck, pale skin bright red as the blood rushed to his head. The hanging redhead was made to look ahead to the winged creature, vines coaxing him look forward. The bird head tilted slightly.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“To die a deeply unpleasant death? No, that wasn't what I had in mind. Absolutely not.“

Julian could feel his body reacting to the strain that was put upon it, acutely aware of the chances of surviving if he was forced to keep this position for too long, but then, his mind felt _strange_. Sharp and wide awake, and probably not due to the overly increased blood flow.

A brief laugh left the creature’s beak, feathers casually ruffling. “Is that what you think is happening? Did your magician friend tell you nothing?”

At the pointed silence in response, a short sigh, and the doctor felt as if he was being chastised in school. “Are you _not_ trying to find a cure for the plague, Julian?”

“That I am, but the _magician_ made it clear it would not be easy and would lead to pain and destruction before wisdom. At least, that's how I understood him.“ The bright smile looked somewhat forced.

“Hm, that isn’t exactly _wrong-_ “ The dangling man flinched at The Hanged Man’s words, but with an elegantly pointed finger that seemed more like a talon was held up. “But, not all pain and destruction is a threat.” The creature could sense the doctor’s growing curiosity, and the vines let up _just slightly_ around his neck.

“This Plague though, nothing good can come from it.” For the first time, Julian saw him take a step toward him. The whole wood seemed to react, retracting, growing and withering simultaneously as The Hanged Man drew near. He stopped just before Julian, beak not so far from his collarbone. “And you have called on me to help you.”

“The magician claims I may be able to pay the price you want. Still not sure if that is a compliment or an insult or something entirely else. How about we slip into something more comfortable and discuss that mysterious price? It's a bit _chilly_ up here.“

With little more than an ‘oof’, the supporting branches adjusted, creaking as they righted the doctor so he was upright. They didn’t release him, however, his feet still held above the ground, arms held behind his back.

“It’s true.” The Hanged Man continued, disregarding the way Julian sputtered after the blood rushed out of his head. Just as he moved to pull against the scratching bark, it tightened. “You _are_ able pay my price, and for that I can give you the cure that you seek, but what are you _really_ here to do, Julian?” The question was firm, weighing in the air. Feathered wings adjusted, and the interrogation looked to rattle him. “Why are you here, in between life and death. Aren’t you a doctor? What will the ability to cure the plague bring you? Fame? Notoriety? No.” The beady eyes looked on, disbelievingly, shaking his head. “You’re too noble.”

“I'm a doctor. Exactly. That not reason enough?“ A defiant gaze from grey eyes, the right one filled with a maze of blood vessels, first sign of the sickness that was breeding inside him. “I've seen what my kind does trying to find a cure. There's got to be another way.“

As he spoke, the wood again _shifted_ , soft creaking and bending around him, no longer stifling his legs, setting them just down in the dirt. Still bound, he was at least no longer hanging. If the sharp beak could smile, it did at that moment.

“You want to help people, at any cost.”

The taloned finger came to prod gently at the center of the doctor’s neck.

Despite everything, Julian blushed. Turned his head. Ridiculous as it was, he was ashamed to admit such things, even now.

“It's only personal vanity, that's all.”

“Only vanity, listening to the screams from your cell as you sit awake, feverishly trying to find a cure?” The talon scraped down, disheveled jacket giving way, just nearly hard enough to slit skin. As the doctor flinched, the figure paused, feathers ruffling again before coming to brush under the man’s temple, by his reddened eye.

“Vanity, staying until you, your assistants, and your colleagues all fall ill?”

Beady eyes blinked empathetically, talon dropping.

“What if you could heal? ... What if you could directly take away another’s suffering?”

“It wouldn't be enough.“ Julian's voice nearly gave way. He noticed his own hard breath. The increased heart rate, and the way his skin heated. Not a sane reaction his body was showing, all things considered, but a very honest one. It had been a while since he had been touched _that way_ , despite all the playfulness with the others, and here, between the worlds, the memory of his mortal flesh seemed an open book to the being as much as his mind.

The Hanged Man let out another laugh, a low near scoff. “And what would you say something like that could cost? Cure the plague, take on the woes and injuries of others, and it wouldn’t be enough?”

Elegant talons gripped his chin, centering the mismatched grey eyes back on the strange being. After a moment, vines crept easily around the doctor’s thighs and hips. Progressively, they pulled back, bringing Julian to a knee.

“‘Pain’ and ‘destruction’ and still ‘not enough’?” Tone empathic, the crowlike head tilted almost uneasily. “After what you’ve experienced... The loss, and the shame... What more are you willing to endure?” It was a soft, almost caring, quiet question in the vast muddy wood.

 _Whatever it takes._ The thought stood clear in Julian's mind. _There's not a lot I can offer to you anymore anyway. It is all gone_.

“Got anything special in mind?“ He tried his patented eyebrow wiggle and felt hot tears sting in his eyes.

“Yes.”

It was a simple, flat answer. Julian felt himself pushed upward, forward again, onto his feet, off the ground again as his ankles were pulled open, secured to the ground.

“Julian Devorak, you, a man of medicine and science, brought to the very edges of reality, with the desire to take away the pain of others, even if it means taking that pain onto yourself.”

His wrists were unbound. The Hanged Man stretched out a taloned hand. “I can give you what you seek.” He paused, smiling. “What do you say?”

“And that is all? A yes or a no?“ The doctor remained, expecting to be bound again if he moved. Faintly hoping maybe. He felt strangely safe tangled between the vines.

“I can’t collect the price until you answer.” Despite the being’s casual tone, the words sat heavy in the air. Again in the distance, the wood moved, a creature in it’s own right.

“I guess it's worth a try?“ Hesitation in Julian's voice, his long body trembling.

Branches crept around the doctor in a circle around his feet, the entire wood poised. The Hanged Man held up a talon in caution. “You can’t only guess, Julian. You need to know.”

Again, he held out a hand, not to shake, but a waiting dance partner. Julian was totally free in that moment, free to turn tail and run, free to fight the figure before him, free to leave.

“I--,“ a hard gulp for air before his fingers closed around the talon, “I've gone too far to go back. If this is what needs to be done, I'll do it.“ He added an _of course_ to make his words sound less shaky.

The taloned hand closed around his own, and the satisfaction that struck the Hanged Man in the following moment was so forceful that the doctor couldn’t help but shiver. Jet black wings unfurled, beating as he was drawn into a cool arm. Before he could react, the other talon came to grip his neck, not restricting airflow but gripping nonetheless, palm cold against flesh. They stilled. The birdheaded entity thoughtfully looked at Julian. For the briefest moment, it was like the human could see the ropes around the feathers fall away, weaving around _him_ , when instead, it was vines, the rope still in place. No other sensation than that, no magical burning, nothing like the smoke that would burn his lungs in Asra’s shop. Just the cold grip over his pulse and the feathered body close to his own.

“It’s done.”

Julian found himself bound again, as the hand around his neck eased slowly before dropping away. The Hanged Man stepped back, vines still sneaking back around the doctor’s limbs until they were hoisting him back up by the ankles, thighs and wrists.

“As for the cure, the plague is not caused by a ‘what’ but a ‘who’...” as he spoke, minuscule vines that had eased through the doctor’s clothing pulled up, leaving him more disheveled, progressively nude. “You know who it is already.” It was another plain statement, despite the increasingly harrowing situation for the doctor.

_Yes. No. I don't want to know. Not him..._

Not the one whose forceful kisses tasted of decay and copper and ash, not the one who managed to be worse than death, voracious, insatiable, the one he was trying his best to save despite every reason, just because it was his _duty_ , and...

Julian leaned into the tight embrace of the vines, suddenly craving their bite into his skin, a feeling of steadiness, of _security_ he had been missing for so long. _Accept that you're helpless, and that this is the price you agreed to pay. This is your own doing_.

With a deep sigh, he allowed himself to stop struggling, to just let go. _Just for a few heartbeats..._

Which is all it took for the winding wood to coax the doctor's thighs apart, bringing his attention to the pressure applied to more _sensitive_ areas. His shirt, ripped and open, allowed him to peer down at the string of wrapping vines that were splayed across his chest, not constricting, thankfully, but firm. Harsh bark still hoisted him up at his lower back, and it was then he noticed the Hanged Man perched just above him on a higher branch, observing. "Figured it out yet?"

"But _why_? He's just--" He wanted to say _human_ , but couldn't bring himself to it, and settled for _selfish idiot_.

Again, smug satisfaction trickled down from above, the raven head tilting as beady eyes regarded Julian, hand casually resting against the trunk of a nearby tree. “He...” The steady voice resounded in the wood, as the doctor noticed the thing string of thorns that had joined the vines, feathering over his chest. “... deals with Pestilence itself.”

Before Julian could react, the single strand closed in, thinly shredding the skin over several ribs in an agonizing moment, before a white light emitted from the doctor’s neck. It was a magical brand, new, and it shone through the branches.

“Kill him and the plague will end.”

The raven's words almost were drowned out by the pained wail that rose from the redhead's throat before he caught himself, trying his best to stay strong, to stay composed, to just _breathe through the pain, Ilya… this is not the worst you've felt, is it?_ , and he spit out a "Nonsense!", only too aware of Asra's claim the Arcana could never lie.

All this was bizarre, a strange, painful dream, and yet he felt way more in the moment than he had in ages, the focus on his own body for once, not on one on the operating table.

“You’re doubting me? Well, that’s up to you. That isn’t really why you came here.”

The wounds stung, and continued to sting, even as the skin mended back together in a record amount of time. The doctor wouldn’t be left to contemplate the strangeness for long as the heavy wings suddenly loomed before him, although they didn’t seem to keep the Hanged Man aloft. A taloned hand caressed the healed skin. “ _This_ is what you came for.”

Julian raised a head that suddenly was way too heavy with a knowledge he didn't want to believe. _Murder_ couldn't be a solution, not the only one. Not for him. All his life he had dedicated his time to preserve, to save, and now...

"There's got to be another way--" he whispered, watering eyes upon the feathered shadow. _There has to be. Too much blood on my hands already._

Being here, being bound and helpless, felt strangely comforting, something he had _deserved_ for so long.

And again, the entity before him swooped up, gone; birds in the distance sounded as if disturbed again. Julian still dangled, his arms behind him. From just behind, a familiar talon gripped his chin, tilting his head back to regard the sky. If he thought hard enough, the doctor could feel the feathered embrace cradling the back of his head. “You brought yourself here, you know.” Instead of the agonizing pain over his chest again, expecting it mid-flinch, he realized the scratching of the Hanged Man’s talon over his bare skin was a gentle, teasingly so, running up from his navel to neck. Vines had met a growing firmness below Julian’s belt.

The Hanged Man chuckled. “I’ve given you what you asked.”

“You will excuse if this wasn't exactly what I was hoping for. It's like curing a headache by amputating the head.“ He shuddered under the talons' touch. _Why does this feel so pleasant?_

“This is worse than a headache, Julian.” The man writhed, and the bird like creature repeated the motion, scratching just hard enough to snag skin over his heart, but shooing away the more aggressive thorny vines that threatened to overtake Julian’s chest again. It wasn’t that the bark wasn’t rough, it was, it gave just enough purchase to the soles of his feet to balance on the precarious nest that seemed to confine him.

Julian tried his best to keep his position straight, even if it meant standing on the tips of his toes, to avoid putting too much strain on his own skin. He felt the vines changing, growing more thorns and dark blossoms sharp like broken glass.

“I don't suppose I can just _leave_?“

“What makes you think any part of this isn’t what you _wanted_?” The question rang with the same concern as before, blood matching the dark petals from wounds that couldn’t stay open.

"Why would I want pain and death? It seem, well, quite the opposite of what I always strived for, don't you think?" There was despair in his voice and defiance and something dark, something that felt very much at home here.

“So you say.” The Hanged Man’s tone was smug, just as an errant vine _squeezed_ the doctor’s backside.

A moan and a blush and a startled face before the redhead caught himself. "You disagree?"

Still perched, watching avidly, the Hanged Man shrugged. “You are the one who decided the price for your own pain and destruction.”

Tender sensations rippled along the tangled vines across the doctor’s thighs, groin, and hips, effectively rolling them where he was trapped. It offset the small stinging sensation of where his limbs caught thorns, marred skin continuously healing as the mark on Julian’s neck gave off a faint glow.

"You do have a way with words, my _friend_ . Will my desperate tries to free myself at least amuse you?" _Or will you wait until I pass out from pain and then feast on my eyeballs like your little brothers? Asra didn't say so, but then he said precious little once again._

“Do you find me so base a creature?” The entity responded, another errant vine practically licked at the doctor’s inner thigh under the distressed fabric of his trousers, the resultant tickled flinch eliciting a cawing laugh from the Hanged Man. “Maybe I am, though.”

"Well, you do live in an lovely and surely entertaining environment, and surely you do get a lot of guests in a good mood?" The doctor tried through his teeth. "Thorns and mud and cold air and the occasional streetlamp. What's not to love?" _And why am I showing such a reaction in this situation? I should be fighting or fleeing, not... oh dammit_. He bit his lip.

“Has anyone mentioned your need to talk when you’re anxious?” Gentle and cold, vines progressively crept along Julian’s thighs like an earthy flame, pressure coming to encompass the around the base of his pelvis. A tender talon brushed the messy red hair from his face, pupils of mismatched eyes widening.

"Now that you say it... no,  not really, but then, there are few alive that know me when I'm not." A nervous laugh with traces of hysteria.

“Hm.”

There wasn’t much of a reaction out of the Hanged Man after. The doctor was helpless to the way the wood arched his back, endless tangled vines adjusting him into a dip. Soft caressing to his neck and face contrasted the searing pain along his arms and chest, wrists pinned to his sides then, offset by the way his hips had taken to rocking back against the sensation between his legs.

"You could at least invite me for a drink or two--,"

The raven was right. Julian couldn't stand the silence, and he couldn't stand the way his body turned against him, confusing pain and pleasure into one weird, unhealthy concoction that made his mind swim like some of his medicines did. He had agreed to this, hadn't he? Even _asked_ Asra for his help, even if the magician advised against it.

Was it this place that made his head spin so splendidly? Something in the air, maybe. Magic. It had to be magic, and if it was, it wasn't his fault if he gave in just this once. Paid the price for a thing he hadn't wanted, or at least not that way, but maybe the Hanged Man was just older and wiser and... _No. I hate that idea. He's an eye-pecking bird after all._

Another amused laugh cawed from the feathered entity, wings adjusting as he combed through Julian’s hair. “Would that make this easier for you?” Again, a talon shooed away some of the thorns, soft, downy touch replacing the already healed skin. Pressure still gripped every part of the hapless doctor.

"Don't get my hopes up." A somehow _shy_ grin as he suffered through the intimate gesture. The hand in his hair was somehow worse than the rest, making it all _personal_.

Another laugh, this one intimate, crawled its way from the Hanged Man’s chest. The creeping vines finally seemed to find the length of Julian then, applying pressure just well enough to make his breath fall sharp.

"I should be used to people laughing when..." He wheezed as things he didn't want to think about any more started exploring the surrounding regions and found his body responding all to easily. _Just a dream, right?_ “Anyway. Impolite, that's all that is."

“Impolite?” The Hanged Man hummed passively, while the vines were everything but that.

“It is really so bad?” The thorns were still present, but they seemed to ebb away at the question. The sensation of slick creeping vines wrapping their way between his legs caught him off guard.

Julian groaned. "Do you do this with all your visitors? For I know a few who'd be all too happy to visit you the-- _ah!_ " A slithering invader shut him up, and his eye grew wide.

“You’re blushing.”

The gentle prodding continued, not forceful, but persistent, tickling, still sweet.

"It is a very normal reaction to that kind of stimulation!" the redhead protested. _If you enjoy it, it is. Damn. Does a raven count as dark and handsome? Mysterious, for sure._

“Not many make it this far, Doctor.” An affectionate smugness emitted from the entity, who ran a gentle talon down the inside of an exposed arm, still perched. Muscles relaxed, and - _Oh_.

"Oh my." Julian breathed. "This was unexpected." _Breathing. Yeah. Breathing is good, deep and calm. Relax. You got this, Ilya. No need to fight it._

Another downy touch ran through red hair, cheeks a darkening pink. A sigh caught in Julian’s lungs as the sensation ran chills down the whole of him.

“And desired.” It was a firm statement.

"It has been a while," the human admitted. _And never quite this way, even if Lucio might wish he had your style._ A sigh as the vines hit his sweet spot without even trying. The raven's beady black eyes that _watched_ him like Vladimir watched the specimens, distant and vaguely amused, letting him feel even more helpless, but... _I shouldn't enjoy this. Why do I..._

Julian was actually hushed by the roll of his hips, branch catching his feet so that he found himself _pushing back_ into the sensation, knees bent. The Hanged Man continued to play with his hair, red locks threading through sharp talons. Julian's thighs were parted just slightly more as the the vines picked up speed, licking at his insides with increased pace, still pleasant despite the way thorns seemed to manifest and subside in waves.

Grey eyes closed, and he felt how his dry lips opened. A longing moan carried through the wet silence of the mangroves. _Desired..._ The word burned in his mind, burned like the things that cut into his skin. _He might be right. Maybe this is what I..._

The raven was a very, very different lover, and the first one who did not seem to care about his own pleasure at all. _Is he even able to?_ He wanted to see him, _watch_ the entity that was doing this to him, but his lids were so very heavy, heavy as the thing between his legs. _What I need. Not what I want_.

Julian writhed in the secure embrace of the vines, head falling back languidly into the downy touch of the Hanged Man’s palm. Warm affection seemed to emanate from the creature, and the whole nest of tangled vines that had taken the doctor in its middle gave off an air of comfort, increasing with every little bit Julian gave in to the blissful shocks of pleasure that racked his body, opening up and relaxing in ways he couldn’t recall having experienced before.

He felt how his mind went away and how he gave in, for the first time in what felt like ever. No wasted thoughts about the other or the impression he left on them, no need to keep the mask he always wore, even below the beaked one. No need to be _himself_ , at least for a while.

The moans and keens that echoed through the wood were only made for him, everything falling away except the ecstasy mixed with stinging pain, what little clothing left on his body falling away with the ripping of thorns.

An errant vine, smooth and wet, had encased the doctor’s firmness, only adding to the stimulation as he was collectively probed only deeper still. Even as his moans grew louder, lovingly, a taloned fingertip brushed away a tear that had welled in Julian’s eyes.

He yearned for a kiss, but that was probably not an option here. More tears started to fall as the loneliness he had locked away so deep started to rise to the surface, fighting the arousal, intensifying it in the end, desperate to be _touched_ , to be torn apart, to be annihilated for a few precious seconds that were an eternity, and he moaned or he sobbed or did both, helplessly pushing back against the invading vines in an attempt to somehow get closer to the raven's touch.

Julian thought he could have heard the entity softly caw, but it could have been a trick of the space, or his body, or the empty void inside of him. Desperately trying to be filled; his hips rocking in time with the vines that pushed inside of him before easing back out and repeating the process, alongside thinner, banding vines that applied pressure _just so_ exactly where he needed it. Pressure that dragged straight through to his navel.

With an elegant jump that _could not be_ , the raven was behind him. Plucked a feather from his head and held it between long talons. “I'll not inscribe your story on your skin. You have not learned to read. And still...“

The quill tore through Julian's skin. Settled there, fast, like it belonged there, and started to grow. Others like it followed in quick succession, covering pale surface with black, and the redhead whimpered.

It _stung_ , no - _burned_ , in a way quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before, an agonizing sensation just under his skin before breaking through. Back arching as he let out a cry, he began pulling against the hold the vines had on him again. All too quickly, the vines inside of him twisted sweetly, and Julian ended up moaning through the pain.

More and more feathers, turning his back, his arms into proud wings entangled in a prison of thorns, and the entity _smiling_ behind his back, in his head, and Ilya knew his beak was as sharp as his talons. Knew how easy it would be to tear him apart, and knew how precious, how very precious, the little flame of life in his ever-dying body was. Forgot about it in an instant as his mortal hull came, just like that, not even spilling seed, just convulsing wildly, and with every heartbeat, life was leaving his body, streaming out into the currents of the swamp, feeling roots, the slow breath of the trees, rising up in their veins, and into the air through lazy leaves, back to his body, half bird now, filling his lungs with memories.

Self loathing, months of it, had edged in on the outskirts of Julian's mind for too long, eating and eating away at him, wrapped into every action he took, every agonized and managed cry of a patient failed in the name of education. All flooding back to him, names and faces and doctors and assistants, his cell full of notes and spilled ink and acrid fumes and _death_ . It wilted all around it, like a tangible thing, and it _was_ . With a _source_. Flowers freshly fallen onto black ink folded and greyed, the joy and life fading as red bled through, overtaking everything. Everything. Weightless, he fell away. Maybe he flew, above the wood, away from the plagued red and deathly beaks, and for a few breathless moments, the man ceased to exist. Mangroves sat peaceful. Time stopped.

Then, the wood _breathed_ , and suddenly, Julian Devorak was whole once again, feathers like memories, blowing away in the wind.

Julian...

_Julian?_

  


“Julian?“ Asra's voice was filled with worry, and that was nothing Ilya was used to, at least not when the magician was talking to him.

“Hrm?“ He just wanted him to go away, or stay and hold him and be silent, but the ropes his body was bound it already did that. _Ropes?_ Right. It had been part of the _ritual_ , that silly, desperate idea that led him into deep dreams je felt already fading.

There was something _important_ , it was on the tip of his tongue, he just needed...

“Did it work?“ A blurry head of white hair filled his vision, eyes huge and almost glowing, and while his brain mused about the question, it forgot about the _important_ thing.

“I... I think I met someone?“

Brows shot up in question. "You _met_ someone? Who?" Hands were moving about his body, and it took him a moment to realize that Asra was untying him, much to his dismay. "One of the Arcana?" He sat listless, in the middle of a spell circle, heady smoke clogging the air in the small back room of the shop. For a moment, Julian was despondent, so _close_ to breaching the fading haze filling the space in his mind, like a foggy wood. "Julian..." Asra took a knee and tried again as the doctor sat, lost. "Ilya..." A hand cupped his face, actual warm touch, a near shock to his system, bringing his attention back to the violet eyes upon him. Familiar crushing sadness threatened to well up between them, and for a moment, the two seemed to connect. "Did it work?"

After a moment of silence, a very decisive order. “Cut me!“ Julian's voice still weak and hoarse, but full of something Asra couldn't quite place.

It took him aback, and he paused. Blinking slowly, he gave the doctor a questioning look. "I'm trying to untie you... do you mean...?"

“Knife. Skin. _Blood_ .“  A heavy breath. “I need to _see_ “

Without any more urging, Asra nodded, stepping away briefly and returning with a small blade. Julian knew it well. They had used it before. Without any prompting, the magician took Ilya's hand. Violet gazed on the doctor curiously, before he brought the knife down in a smooth gentle motion across his palm. Red oozed out immediately, as expected. Less expected was the moment after that, blood welling up just enough to drip down from the doctor's hand before the wound immediately began to heal. Asra gaped.

Devorak's laugh was nothing but _delighted_.

A blue glow rose up from his chest, illuminating pale skin, making his face a distorted mask, flickering in his eyes like madness, or maybe it was a tinge of madness that he had brought back from the realms in between.

It only took a moment more of complete amazement before Asra, “That means...” and he was examining Julian’s hand, no trace of injury left. “It _worked_.”

The despair that had long settled into Asra was shaken with newfound confidence. He gripped at the still partially bound doctor’s shoulders.

"No, no, no, because he didn't give me what I _wanted_ , but what he thought was _right_ for me, and--" _And there was something important, and now it's gone, and it's my fault I lost it_ and Ilya felt hot tears run over his cheeks, because everything had been for nothing.

The sobbing form of the doctor crumpled onto Asra, who was left cradling the man in his arms. The energy in the room remained, however, retaining the mania. Taking a breath, the mystic privately smiled, holding the doctor tightly, eyeing the way the blood already interacted in the circle.

_I need to tell him. He needs to... No. No. It will come back, Sooner or later, it will._

Devorak tried to sit back, to just breathe. Ended on his knees, tears slowly ebbing, letting his head sink down to avoid the magician's gaze.

“We should tell Nadi.” Asra’s voice was soft and intimate again. A hand, very warm and real, gently ran through the hair at the back of Julian’s neck.

“I need to do some experiments first,“ Julian mumbled and then, not even a proper afterthought, he added an “alone“. Something about Asra, a man he never really dared to call his friend, rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was just the way the entity had felt, _whole_ , not shattered like broken crystal, maybe it was the sudden understanding that the dark thoughts he usually held back so thoroughly were true, that it was just about Asra and Nadia and others like them, humans with stars in their heart, and that he'd never belong.

Ilya swallowed those thoughts down. _Not now..._

 

 


	2. Backstreet (Muriel/ Julian)

The alleys of this quarter at this time of night were quiet.  
They tended to be.

  
People could be heard raging down the main streets that lead out from the section of town Muriel least wanted to be in. He was not the kind to get lost in drink and gambling, but it seemed necessary to be here. At least, it had. A lost handful of drunkards passed him without being aware of his existence, as things should be. His mood was even darker than usual.  
He had tried to see Asra, to talk to him in private, but _she_ had been there, and Asra’s head in rosey clouds. Muriel had given up when she was around years ago, even before her disappearance. It was no use, and he didn’t have the words to explain the man who once was his best friend why this was a problem.  
He had taken his usual path, until a roadblock of boxes and broken down furniture forced him into the labyrinth of little streets, leading a degree too close to people and noise. At least his way out seemed fine. He was nearly out of the city, almost at the walls. Not much farther...  
  
That faint glimmer of hope was destroyed when a door to his left burst open, a mess of red hair and black stumbling straight at him. The mountainous man moved to block, but, like a struck bird, the cloaked figure tripped, and Muriel found himself opening a palm and catching the man by the shoulder instead. An angry arm reached out to slam the door shut behind him, leaving the two of them standing awkwardly in the darkness of the backstreet behind The Rowdy Raven. Muriel frowned.  
This backstreet wasn’t as quiet as he would have liked.  
  
"I'll grace you with my presence again," the redhead mumbled and clumsily tried to get up. Tried to fix his hair then as he saw who had caught him. A flash of teeth. "Well hello there, and thank you for your help! May I invite you for a drink or two?"

  
Muriel knew the way the gray eye ran over him, appreciating and curious. Sometimes ladies of the upper class with special interests had looked at him like that, before asking the Count for a favor Lucio was only too glad to give. Now and then he even watched.  
This time, one thing was different, and that was that he _knew_ the man. Knew the slight smell of panic he usually gave off when they met, and very well remembered that he was the one who took Inanna's wounds on himself so willingly. There was no recognition in Devorak's face, as it should be.

  
Carefully peering around, Muriel made sure no one else was about to come crashing through yet another door. He hadn’t moved his hand from Devorak’s shoulder, and it seemed as though if he were to, the doctor would slip straight down to the ground, admiring eye and all. _Damn it_. Apprehension prickled at the back of Muriel’s neck as he looked down at the doctor. As loath as he was to remain where he was any longer than necessary, there was this once so helpful redhead that had placed a hand on the one on his shoulder, trying and failing to subtly size up their difference, all the while leaning into the touch.  
“Are you alright?” Muriel growled.

 “Perfectly, perfectly fine! Just a little discussion that ended not so perfectly fine!“ A naked hand - the matching glove probably had gotten lost somewhere inside - combed through red hair and came back crimson. Julian eyed it with a certain amusement.

Muriel could smell the blood before it appeared, but only frowned deeper at the doctor’s blasé look. He again looked around before coming to study the wounded man. Carefully, he let him go. “Will it hurt long?”

Devorak didn’t catch the knowing tone to the question. At least, Muriel hoped he hadn’t.

“No, no. It will be fine. I mean, if you think it won't be, then you of course may take a look, if that is what you like and--“ His voice faded, and his cheeks seemed to turn even redder. “It'll be fine.“

Muriel shot Devorak a disbelieving look, taking a step back. “Turn around.”

The redhead did, without a moment of hesitation, the alcohol clouding his judgement, or maybe it was some underlying knowledge that the stranger could be trusted, or the underlying error that led to the same conclusion. For a moment, his knees grew weak, but he caught himself. "I may have hit my temple the tiniest bit on something hard and unpleasant..." he mused, more to himself.

The mountain behind him paused.

“... You have glass stuck in your scalp.” Dotting along the back of the Devorak’s head to his ear were several small shards of glass, coated with blood. Otherwise, where Muriel would have expected to see blunt injury was only a healed bruise, and he knew the glass was stuck just in enough.

"So a bottle then? Or a stein?" _Mild interest_ wasn't the expected reaction.

 

Annoyance struck Muriel, who again surveyed the street. Just in time, as a gaggle of revelers poured into the back street several doorways away. He peered back at the seeping wound in red hair, remembering the gentle look on Devorak’s face as he cured Inanna. “You’ll heal, right?” A gentle hand guided Julian back around to face him. “We should go.”

"I am indeed... yes. I heal." Devorak's hands closed around Muriel's massive wrist, not quite understanding the low words. "You have somebody who needs help?"

“I did, once, years ago. You helped.” His face grew soft, letting the small lie live, before noise erupted again down the street and it was replaced by concern. Muriel sighed, watching Julian’s hand follow his own as he dropped it. “You need that glass out.” More ruckus, sounding ever closer to them, bringing his hair to stand on end. He inwardly resigned.

_This is a bad idea. Or is it? Maybe he knows..._

“Come. I’ll take a look at it.”

"I can..." He dropped the _do it tomorrow_ with a _follow you, of course I can_. The doctor's ungloved hand glided forward into the big palm, tried to remain there as the rest of his body turned to leave.

A weary brow creased as Muriel noted the blood in his hand, taking off with the doctor. They dodged and eased farther and away from the noise.

 

Devorak was quick to get closer to him, wrapping his long arms around his like a maiden just saved from distress, red-haired head on the strong shoulder. Only now remembered what he wanted to ask. "I helped? You? A friend of yours?"

Caught up in the embrace, Muriel tried to pull arms away, only to find them easily weasel right back. The doctor’s head on his shoulder gave him a good angle to examine the broken glass, so with an outward sigh, he gave up for the time being, letting Devorak cling to him. He tried to ignore the way the warmth of another person wasn’t all that bad. She had accepted it, and so could he.

“Yes. A friend. An important one.” _I owe you that much_.

Bringing a steadying hand to Devorak’s back, Muriel took the other and pulled out a shard carefully, the wound spurting before already making to heal.

The thin body twitched briefly and exhaled sharply. “That's another one for the list.“ A little chuckle. “So many kinds of pain that aren't-- But I'm glad to hear I could be of use, that's what I'm here for.“

Another piece after that, and another, sizable palm keeping him from shuddering too hard. Muriel kept silent, but had decided to play along for the time being.

“This is a bit more than expected, I'll admit that. Quite the mess.“ Devorak was braver than he looked, just wincing, but not whimpering.

It _was_ a mess. Flecks of glass peppered his scalp and hair, some in, some out. While each piece removed healed within a few minutes, just as one was picked out, more appeared. Muriel let out another heavy sigh.

“A bottle _and_ a stein.”

“Ha, I knew they loved me!“

At some point, the glass was too small for Muriel to grab, however the worst of it was out. “How’s that?”

 

The drunk man carefully felt his scalp, biting his lip now and then when he found a particularly pointy piece. "They'll fester out, unless I excise them. Oh well, there is always time for that." He blinked up to the man who managed to be even taller than him. "Thank you. I guess that makes us even?" One of his arms was still around Muriel's, unwilling to let go. "Or do I owe you now? _May I?_ "

The last question took Muriel by surprise, blinking down at the arm around his own. For the briefest moment, his breath fell light, mind again lingering on the way the doctor’s bare hand felt pressed against his bicep. It would hardly be the first time someone had done so, but this felt different. Not the touch of someone ready to use, or destroy. It was almost-

“Hm.”

With a shy shrug, he flicked an errant piece of glass off the doctor’s shoulder.

"That's not a ‘no’ then?" A glimmer in the grey eye.

The only answer Devorak received was an almost smile, flickering momentarily.

"May I do for you what I think is right then? As a _doctor_ , of course."

Muriel made a face, apprehensive. “What is it?”

"Well, you know, you do seem pretty tense. This constant state of stress isn't doing you any favors, probably. Do you feel on the edge, almost constantly? Not good for your heart, not at all." The redhead's fingers had sneakily started wandering over skin dirty from a life in the forest and the grime of the streets, caressing, probing. Only for science, of course.

It was enough to put Muriel’s hair on end, and just as fingertips sought to press into the stiff muscle of his shoulder did he unweave their arms, holding his own out and away from drunk man. “No.” His expression wasn’t one of anger, but embarrassment. The look on Devorak’s face in response was baffled and _hurt_ , more hurt than he had been with a head full of broken glass. _Dammit_.

“You’re injured.” Muriel tried, holding up a hand covered in still drying blood.

"Just a scratch. I'll be fine." A short grin, and the gloved hand stopped. Through the fog in his head, the doctor seemed to have caught up with the less than enthusiastic response his savior was giving. "Are you alright with this? If you want me to keep my hands to myself, I will."

Muriel’s eyes widened at the question, taken aback. “If I _want...?_ I...” Some indiscernible emotion flickered across his face for a moment, gazing off into the dark, followed by brief distress. He glanced back to the doctor, whose face was expectant, but hands to himself. “I...” Muriel tried again, expression softening, hand raising as if he were about to reach out, but dropped and his mouth fell into a line, eyes belying the conflict still behind them.

“Shall I... shall I just continue and you see if you like it?“ His voice was gentle, like it had been when he was talking to Inanna.

 

For a second, he thought he could see the other begin to respond, but instead found his hand slowly picked up and placed back to the muscle it had previously occupied. What followed, too, was a lot like he had done to the wolf. Careful, exploring touches, leather and warm skin dragging over old scars, down his forearm first, resting on the cold shackle, then dancing over the callused hand. Lifting it up a bit, and placing a kiss in the palm.

There was a question on the face shrouded by dark hair, eyes black holes in the shades of the alley. Muriel flexed his unoccupied hand, a gesture that told of nervousness and the painful wish for a weapon.

Julian rose, the stranger's hand still at his cheek, allowing the careful touch. Slowly his fingers wandered over the arm again, following the structures of muscles, tracing their pattern with experienced movements. _Extensores. Biceps brachii. Deltoideus. Pectineus major._ There the hands remained, one on the shoulder, the other at the side of the chest, just over the _axilla_. Waited patiently.

He hadn't quite realized how he progressively had come closer and closer to the broad chest until Muriel let out a deep breath at the pause. Their gazes met, and he suddenly became very aware of the way they stood, blinking away before long, giving the doctor a shy nod, stance shifting to allow him closer still.

 _Pectoralis. Clavicula. Sternum._ Not the iron collar that separated Muriel from the rest of the world. The doctor's eye was on Muriel's face, not his body, clouded with a mixture between worry and slight arousal. After a shallow breath, the tension began to eek out from his shoulders slowly under the doctor's touch. It wasn't entirely restorative, it couldn't possibly be, there were far too many years of knots and tears and scar tissue for a few minutes to change. Still, the shift in Muriel's form was tangible, and before Julian could notice, he was being held, Muriel's free hand at his ribs.

Julian finally realized what fascinated him so much about the stranger. Not his sad eyes, not his stature, but that he had to _look up_ for once, and probably...

"May I kiss you?" His drunken head was delighted at the thought of having to stand on _tiptoes_ for once.

 

Consideration passed over Muriel's face, a far more serious look than the doctor anticipated, and for a moment he was convinced that the mountainous man would withdraw and retreat, when instead the opposite happened. The hand at Julian's face gently urged him to close the distance, the other at his ribs sliding under an arm to hold him tighter. There was a heavy pause, where Muriel's eyes were wide, almost fearful, before he let them slide shut.

And stand on tiptoes Julian did, placing dry lips tasting of salty bitters on those plump, somehow so _innocent_ ones, feeling the butterflies dancing in his own stomach, excited for something that truly felt like a first kiss, and excited because for once he felt small and delicate, something that never ever happened to him.

The sensation wouldn't cease, as the kiss lingered, sweet and chaste, as the hand at his face moved to join the other around the doctor's waist. All of this was very much not what he had been expecting. Instead of being violently used and abused as he had hoped for, he was with someone that seemed... immaculate? Virginial? He was vaguely aware of the concept, and while the hands spoke of experience, the lips very much did not. They stumbled against his, trembling, despite the way the grip on his upper body increased.

Muriel _wanted_ , that much was certain, in the way his hands still wandered, trying to gather the doctor up in his arms. Just as Julian felt the urge to drop his heels, a hand slid down to his thigh, hoisting him up with ease. An unsure mouth gasped against the doctor, leaving the two blinking dazedly at each other.

Now _this_ was closer to what he had expected.

"You smell nice..." Julian mumbled before closing back in. Slowly he traced his tongue over the delicate skin, not invading the hollow. Not yet. The stranger radiated heat and a heavy, pleasant musk that crawled right into the doctor's innards, twisting and turning into heat there, bringing heavy pulses into his lower body. but also bringing faint memories he couldn't quite place. _Fire and a thunderstorm and pain?_

 

He wouldn’t dwell for long, however, as he felt himself pushed up against the wall behind him. Muriel let out a deep sigh, bringing the doctor’s legs around his waist.

Julian giggled madly and strung the long limbs where they should be. This hadn't happened since he was a kid, and he found it delightful.

The mouth on his moved to his cheek, his ear, his hair, breaths taking in the blood and sweat and bitters and something else unique to the doctor. Again, in became clear how much Muriel _wanted_ , the pressure between Julian’s legs immediately noticeable.

“Are you feeling dizzy? Lightheaded?“

The doctor couldn't quite estimate the size of the swollen member that was so avidly growing under him, but was already sure it took more than a little blood to fill it. Well, the stranger was a big guy, and while he might have been hoping for a cock to match his size, this was a little unexpected. In his head, Julian already went through the things he carried in his pockets. Liquid things, and slippery things, and... yes. That might do the trick.

“Why?” Came the gruff response, Muriel peeking a look down at Julian. The faintest hint of pink shaded his cheeks, shifting Julian’s weight in his arms.

“Just professional interest. I remember the legend of a guy your size passing out every time a beautiful face spiked his interest, because his blood keenly rushed from heart and head into, well--“ He squealed. Being nothing more than a quite unwieldy feather to someone was a new experience.

“Oh, uh,” Broad shoulders shrugged, before Muriel shook his head. “Never had that problem.” He looked sheepish then, innocent again, despite their compromising placement. Conflict flooded his features, and for a moment Julian thought that the sizable hands would set him down. “... Is this a problem?”

“I don't want you to be unwell because of me. I want to take care of you, but... not while you're unconscious on the ground.“ A quick smile and a kiss on the cheek.

“‘Take care?’” Muriel questioned uneasily.

“... Make sure we both enjoy this?“ A former lover had told Julian to put it that way, because stating that he was here for their pleasure didn't sit right with them.

 

Another thing, like a smile, spread across Muriel’s face. A moment passed, and, with renewed vigor, hands gripped the doctor’s thighs, running down to hook under his knees. The obvious bulge between the two men only continued to make itself known, but before either could contemplate it any longer, large palms slid back up Julian’s legs, backside, but just up further still, to tug on the waist of his slacks.

"Wait, wait. Boots. Buttons. A moment, if you don't mind?" Once again Julian cursed his choice of clothes, but then, he rarely did that in the morning when looking in the mirror. _Ah, sweet vanity._

Muriel's brows raised and he gently set the doctor on his feet, blush set firmly on his face. The man looked down at the evident bulge he had just been sat against, before back up to the green eyes nearly hidden by dark hair.

"You're not against a closer inspection, are you?" The doctor tugged at the not-quite-giant's waistband. "Just to see and taste what we have here."

A hard gulp was Muriel's response, taking a step back. Terribly unsure, he looked down the alleyway nervously, as if expecting to be discovered. Before long, returned his gaze back to the doctor, giving him a tentative nod.

The redhead was fast to be on his knees, black leather stained by dirty cobblestone, and to open up and pull down the fabric that hid Muriel from the world.

Just stared then for a few heartbeats as a hard, veined cock bobbed out that was indeed of adequate size to it’s owner, and he carefully, almost respectfully, put his hands around the shaft, one bare, on gloved. Placed a tender kiss on the tip.

Muriel huffed, blinking away bashfully as dark hair fell into his face. Hands clenched uselessly at his side.

Julian moved slowly. Slowly opening his mouth, slowly taking him into the dark heat, hands still holding onto a length that would not be swallowed easily. His gray eye was closed, trusting, the whole man focused on the task at hand. A little moan as he tasted his new lover.

 

A fist thudded back against the surrounding brick, hair continuing to obstruct Muriel's face. As the doctor only continued to take in him in, green eyes widened disbelievingly, and his head slowly dropped back against the wall, although himself silent outside from a softly longing sigh.

Julian found himself enjoying this, and vague ideas for the first line of a story about this, _how I moved a mountain with my mouth_ or _I once wrestled a bear and won_ swam through the horny emptiness in his head. The gloved hand wandered down to his own hardness, freeing it from its confines and wrapping around it. The leather felt nice and warm on the sensitive skin. The thought that he looked like a very naughty priest in the middle of worship popped up, briefly amused him and got washed away by the steady rhythm of sucking and licking and pumping his body fell on his own, somehow meditative in his drunken head.

The figure above him could only twitch and sigh, heavy breaths combined with the way fingertips would dig into the wall. Muriel had to make it a point not to buck his hips, the size of him already visibly enough for the slim form to take without an added thrust. It had been a while since anyone had bothered to be so... accommodating. With that, the mountainous man could already feel the desire him to begin to surge, and he gently tapped the doctor on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Mh?" The redhead looked up, mouth still filled, and slowly drew back. "Any wishes for improvement?" The question sounded strangely innocent.

Green eyes opened lazily as Muriel peered down at Julian, cock still twitching between them. Shifting weight from one foot to the other, the large chain clinked slightly. "I, um." The doctor himself looked to be pulsating below. "Can I take you?" He asked hopefully, blushing harder still.

"I-- I really want to try." Julian bit his lip. "It may hurt a bit." He suppressed the _please let it hurt a bit_ that lay on his tongue.

 

Taking his hand, Muriel brought him to his feet. The doctor gulped for the anxious moment the two men stood alone in the alley, pants down around thighs and ankles. A beat, and it appeared Muriel was unsure again. He pointed to the wall opposite, then to himself. "... Which might be easier?"

“Over there.“ A nod towards the wall. “But first--“ the doctor's hands unbuttoned his jacket, searching in the inky deaths for some little vials that clinkered like crystals chimes, “-- we need to do a little preparation. Hold this. And this. And hold out your hand like this...“

He poured, and stirred with his finger, and poured some more of something else. Added a powder then, and Muriel felt how a pleasant numbness sank through the surface of his hand, the skin prickling with the touch of tiny needles that soon disappeared, leaving an uncertain feeling of warmth. The doctor dipped in his other fingers too now and started lubing himself up liberally. Took a look at the throbbing cock and added some more. “The rest is for you. Allow me?“

Muriel had only watched on, understandingly confused, shrugging a nod.

"You sure this is what you want?" Oily hands, feeling warm and almost liquid themselves, caressed his shaft. A bright smile and a lick of the lips answered his slow nod, and the strange doctor was all too eager to get up against the wall, his legs spread, hands against the rough stone, presenting himself like a bitch in heat. One last gaze at his cock, and the redhead gulped, found another vial he took a deep sniff from. Muriel watched the gray eye roll back into his head for a moment, watched a shiver run through him as his muscles relaxed. Watched him nod. "Let's try."

 

Muriel stepped forward, carrying the image of the doctor sitting before Inanna, and the accomplished but pained smile that the redhead had worn. His chest felt alight, his palms coming to encompass Julian's hips. Running an affectionate thumb over the his lower back, the tingling sensation came to ripple over his cock as it lined up with the doctor eagerly. Grey eyes had shone in the firelight that night when Muriel had caught him hiding from the storm. _With that magician._ A shake of the head, and Muriel twitched against the warmth set before him. A firm stance was taken before leaning in slowly, tipping in carefully. Again focusing on the way the doctor felt as relaxed muscles gave way to accommodate him, he felt as if he was slipping away into the sensation, being compressed and made finer.

The doctor whimpered and pushed against him, desperately trying to get more, to get all of his length into him, and reminded Muriel, bizarrely enough, of Inanna again, the way she searched his touch when she was wounded, needing to feel the presence of her pack, only that she was honest enough not to use that very _human_ way the doctor had chosen.

“Fuck me, heavens, impale me, tear me apart...“ He heard the tears in Devorak's hoarse words.

Muriel nodded to himself, taken out of his reverie. With a slight thrust, he sank in, not enough for all, but close. It made the doctor moan as he relaxed into it again before another push allowed his backside to meet Muriel’s hips, buried entirely, eliciting a renewed moan. A sizable hand came around to grip Julian’s cock, pumping gently a few times. Then, an agonizing pause. _Just ask._

“You used to travel with a magician. An apprentice.” The voice was gruff, but breathy, pained. “What happened?” Another thrust, followed by another, the warmth of the doctor driving him forward into a slowly building rhythm.

“Wha-- What?“ Devorak's muscles tightened up, and his body jerked, helplessly caught between two walls of stone. Flight was not an option.

 

Muriel stifled a moan when he clenched. Stars danced before his eyes for a few moments, and he almost lost himself before he had properly started his questioning. "When we met, you were with someone. Where is she now?" Fingertips reassuringly brushed over his thigh.

"We met? How drunk was I to for-- _ha--_ forget you?"

“It was a long time ago.”

 

Muriel buried the bittersweet feeling, concentrating on the pull the body before him hand on his own. Trying to ease the tension in the doctor, fingers ran over the tip of his dangling cock gently.

"I... no. It can't be a long time ago. I haven't known _her_ for a long time, so how could it have been a long time?" That had been true til about a month earlier, when almost-death forced forgotten things back into his head. A short, longing thought of the raven. Of what he told him why she couldn't listen, the little eternity they spent together, and his hips bucked at the memory. "And I'm sorry if I was drunk and obnoxious, that sometimes happens. It's therapeutic!"

"You weren't." Muriel slid a little ways out of him before back in, eyes fluttering shut. The groan that left the mountainous form behind Julian sounded both longing and exasperated. "She's gone back to him, hasn’t she?" He came to a full stop then, again buried deep inside the doctor. "Asra."

Julian's head sank at the mention of the name. Didn't remain there for long, his body forgetting heartaches over hard fucks. "Don't they always, sooner or later? Biggest of his many talents. Draw the lost ones like moths to the light." _Like her, and me, and... you?_

It would be the last clear thought he had before the presence inside him recoiled and began to _thrust_ , harder than before, hands gripping him stock still as he could feel himself shudder in a mix of thrill and pleasure. Muriel was silent, aside from a few heavy breaths and longing sighs.

Now and then, Devorak was realistic about his chances and his fighting skills, even if he'd never admit that. No struggle, just his own teeth digging into his lip to keep himself from screaming from... good heavens, it _hurt_ , and he _needed_ that, and he felt how his body was becoming nothing more than willing, malleable flesh, a sheath for that heavy sword, and the sudden realization that there would be no going back if the stranger went too far and _destroyed_ him, not anymore, and that thought drove him over an early, unexpected edge, convulsing around the swollen cock, spilling a bit of himself into the street.

"Don't stop," he pleaded, "never stop..."

 

And stop Muriel didn't, the bittersweet flood mulling about in his mind welling up in a mix of firmness and tenderness and resentment poured into every movement pounded into the slim form in his hands. They had both been left to twist in the wind, again and again, and it threatened to choke him. The only thing that seemed to assuage the sinking feeling was the pull of the doctor's muscles around his cock, as he pushed out the sadness, as if it would exorcise itself in the darkness.

Sudden as a blade to the kidneys, he was open wide, welcoming his thrusts, eager and willing and suddenly _sad_ , with a thought rising to the surface that needed to get out.

"You love him, don't you?" Julian whispered between two moans.

 

Muriel’s heavy breath caught sharply at the question, pace faltering for only a passing moment. Without a response, a hand large enough to encompass the back of Julian’s head ran fingertips through the red hair at the back of his neck, gripping firmly. Another palm slid down from a hip to hold the doctor’s thigh, lifting. He would find himself leaning helplessly on the wall, feet just touching the ground as the near giant of a man dragged himself out before plunging back into the gaping heat mercilessly, slick noise the only thing accompanying the sounds Julian was making.

Suffocated little cries and groans, his own gloved hand over his mouth. He still _wanted_ this, wanted this stranger who he shared a longing with that would never be fulfilled, and what should have been just another unhealthy medication against his own loneliness so quickly had turned into something that clenched his heart with iron reigns, a weird sense of _kinship_ . The two of them were suffering the same sickness, and that made him _happy_.

It was only then, remaining semblances of self control slipping away, Julian’s form offering no resistance to ceaseless way he was being used, that Muriel began to _moan_. A low, growing growl that built slowly from his gut. The image of the doctor healing Inanna, the look on his face as he gazed upon _her,_ and that pang to his heart, that _sadness._ And overall, the knowledge that still, no matter how many times they had tried to warn, to _comfort_ , to _stop_ Asra, it had all been for... _what_?

Muriel gathered Julian up in his arms, hoisting him away from the wall, feeling himself reaching an edge, wanting to feel the man’s warmth, _craving_ it. Heart pounding, the low groan continued into the back of Julian’s head, the doctor still impaled on his cock as Muriel held him upright by the chest and knee. Pace erratic, the head of red hair lolled back languidly on a broad shoulder, a leather clad and a naked hand reaching to rest over the grip on his form as he was fucked senseless. For the first time in perhaps ever, Muriel _wanted_ to be seen, to be _wanted_ , and the only person he had come across that understood the agonizing mix of sadness and longing was the one he was so deeply buried inside.

That thought pushed him to climax, a hard gasp that cut through his groans, twisting through rough vocal cords. Muriel held the doctor firm, still buried to the hilt, filling the poor man to the brim.

Moments passed as the sensation shook the near giant of a man and his new lover, twitching occasionally until the wave had passed, standing in the aftermath alone in the dark alley, breath falling like the weight of the world from heavy shoulders.

 

Devorak was crying. Little, exhausted sobs, his long body limp like that of a doll, still _pulsing_ around Muriel's cock. Mumbling a ‘ _thank you’_ , and another one, hands desperately grasping for his warmth. A docile little pet. Large arms held him carefully, protectively, sinking slowly to the ground so they sat. Muriel continued to cradle the unraveled gangly form, nose pressed into the side of hair sticky with blood.

"Did you like it?" First, careful words after a whole while of tears and running nose and congested breaths, finished by the frantic search for a hanky. He could feel the nod against his head, accompanied by an affectionate nuzzle. Muriel still sat inside of him, softening by the second, although the arms wrapped around him held firm.

"That's good then." A smile into the darkness. "Do you... no. I don't want to know, and still..."

“What?”

"May I see you again?" It seemed only one part of his questions, but the one that was more important right now.

That caught Muriel by surprise, he could tell in the way breath fell against his neck. A long pause came after that, so long Devorak began to wonder if the other had even heard him, but then a slow suffering sigh brushed his face.

“That would be nice,” soft and lowly murmured against his head and back.

 

"I... I understand." A first moment of hope quickly turned into the realization what the answer meant, and he let himself sink back against the warm body, cursing himself that he even asked. The feeling of once again getting exactly what he deserved washed over him, draining the afterglow from his mind. "Well. Thank you for your time and your company, and..."

He tried to escape the embrace, landing on hands and knees in the dirt of the street, a thin trickle of oil and sperm running down his thigh. "Places to go, people to meet..." His voice almost breaking, but then, what did he expect? His foolish heart falling so easily... Pants. He needed his pants up, and some traces of dignity remaining. As he reached for the imperative article of clothing, a large hand came around his wrist. Devorak raised his gaze to meet the imploring green one pointedly fixed on his. Muriel opened his mouth, wanting to speak, stuck somehow. Eyes kept locked, he leaned in slightly, willing _something_. Ultimately, his grip released, letting the doctor continue in silence.

For a heartbeat, the lanky body remained frozen, hoping for a kiss that did not come, one that would be as innocent and clumsy as the first one, but then, his shoulders slumped down, defeat in every movement. He still was drunk, but not drunk enough to cope with this. Not drunk enough to turn into a sobbing mess at the stranger's feet, so that was something. It felt horribly empty without the heat inside of him.

"I'll be around, you know? Just in case you need a doctor..."

Muriel’s gaze burned into Julian as he dressed, in spite of his expressionless face.

“I will.”

The redhead stumbled a few, uncertain steps. Returned then and bent down to press a kiss on the giant's forehead, somewhere between dark hair and furrowed brows. "Say hello to your friend from me. Hope everything's fine."

Just as the kiss eased, large arms came around the doctor’s legs and knees in an awkward embrace. Held for a moment or so, and let Devorak go, watching him back up slowly before turning around to walk away.

  


Muriel stayed there for several long moments longer, even after the doctor had turned the corner, sitting and breathing and watching nothing in particular. Right now, the silence felt _strange_.

 

 


	3. Consent (Asra/Lucio)

 

Asra had crossed the border. It was only Lucio’s wing, and it was empty, he was sure, but the long shadows that cascaded down the dark halls obscured the magician’s way. Bringing up a magic flame, meek in the darkness, Asra took several confident steps forward before his foot crunched down on sand. Peering down, he felt the color drain from his face. It was _ash_ and-

  
He was in the woods, feet on a pile of twigs. There was mirth about him, hanging in the air between the trees, and rage, the two entwined so very familiar. Little twigs breaking, the sound too sharp to be caused by feet. Hooves? Asra frowned, noting the oddly long shadows that dragged throughout the wood.

 

“Lucio, what are you playing at?”

“Playing at. Playing...“ voices out there resounded. Mockingly echoed him. “Magician, what are you playing at?“

Eyes narrowed, and to Asra’s frustration, he found his magic coming up short, a lucid dream gone awry. Inhaling deeply, he tried to collect his thoughts.

“ Oh come on now. Don't be such a shameful bore.“ Even here, Lucio's patience didn't last long, and it ran through the branches like a swarm of mice. “You've been the  _ funny one  _ once, remember?

At once, Asra’s shoulders dropped, his mood lightened. A coy smile curled his lips. “If you wanted to see me, you could have just  _ asked _ .” Looking around, he tried to spot the Count’s form, failing.

For a moment, there was silence, little world holding its breath. Sucking it in and spitting it out in an angry scream. Tiny splinters of wood and leaves and something wet that might be raindrops or saliva rained onto the magician's body from every direction.

" _ Asked?! _ "

Asra knew Lucio's wrath well enough. Usually it hit others.

"Lucio  _ ORDERS! _ "

  
  


A deafening silence followed. He had felt his teeth vibrating by the sheer volume, had felt the dead count in his bones more than he heard him, and then, he heard the ghost nonchalantly add a "But you know that, right? Just getting a little forgetful with age."

Despite the apprehension that shook the magician to his core, he masked it with a laugh. “Of course,” he replied, still light, still cordial. Going against the grain when it came to Lucio would never get him anywhere, like rubbing fur the wrong way. “How foolish of me.” He put on a charming smile. “What did you want to see me about?”

It was an often repeated phrase from a long time ago, to a sickly form in bed, hoping the memory would trigger some sort of response in the ghost. He sat, trying not to feel like a morsel in the mouth of a whale.

"Do you miss me, dearest Asra? Do you miss the fun we had? Oh, how merry we've all been together... I remember it well. Noddy and you, and you and Noddy, and who else was there..." The voice wandered, became more focused and more airy again, was somewhere between the trees there, or those over there, or... "Oh Jules, Jules, silly sweet little Jules, and Noddy and you, and do you remember how it felt to fuck her while I watched? Do you still do that, Asra? Fuck my  _ wife  _ while I'm not around?" It came closer and closer, and for an instant he could feel cold metal and magic on his skin.

"Do you remember my  _ claws _ , Asra, how they tore into your skin when you came, and how hard you came when you did?" A single sharp pain that ran down the blade of his shoulder, drawing blood, and a stench of sulfur and sickness.

Teeth grit, eyes squeezed shut, Asra barely fought back the flinch that wracked his body under the psychic touch. A ghost shouldn’t be this tangible, but then again-

His magic came up painfully short. Absentmindedly, there was a second he considered how much of his heart he had lost in that bargain with the Devil, and breath fell light in fear. Still, he knew he slept elsewhere, if he could only recall  _ where _ .

“I don’t know Lucio, if I remember correctly you seemed to prefer to watch me fuck Julian instead.”

Asra grinned through the pain, although it only intensified; he had struck a nerve.

  
  


"Because you looked so much like me, my sweet, beloved Asra, when I made you." A single claw tore deeper into his tissue. "Your soft eyes full of disgust and pity, about Jules, but mainly about yourself, because you  _ enjoyed  _ it, and you enjoyed how much he  _ adored  _ you, how he would do anything for you. But that's just your thing, my sweet magician. Collecting hearts and crushing them. Well, it's a hobby for sure." Lucio's voice was a sweet sing-song now.

Asra recalled the innocent, unabashedly blithe look on the face he had sometimes so longed to see again, and the utter amnesia that followed it. The disappointment that filled Devorak when they last spoke, compared to the adoration Lucio mentioned. Asra recalled how the redhead’s eyes would roll back in his head as vaguely amused eyes watched them.

It had been devastating.

His love, actually lost, all of that effort... self loathing. It hurt more that the claw digging its way through his muscles. Falling down to his knees, and he grunted through a pained cry, the lack of his former self hitting hard.

“Is this what you wanted?” The magician uttered, still defiant, buckling under the pain, mind again trying to reach out for his body.

  
  


"To die? To live and suffer, like you so graciously allowed me to do, oh great wizard?" A hand that felt like an actual, human hand on his chest, right over his heart. and a body pressed against his back, driving the metal further in. "Oh, how you loved it, loved to be needed again. Loved to do what you had to to little Jules. Not your fault. Never your fault. No revenge, and no satisfaction while you hurt the man who let your _true love_ die. Not you, the immaculate Asra."

Another cry ripped out from the man’s throat, eyes welling with tears. Fingers dug into the dirt below as a small stream of blood seeped down his arm. Breath caught. A wave of snakelike shadows sprang out from the ground and pushed the presence back, blood magically burning away. The force was enough to buy him time to at least visualize and enter  _ elsewhere _ , the shop, where he locked the door behind him. It wouldn’t last, he was only too aware of that, and the sorrow that still gripped him chipped away the interior by the second. With a deep breath, he ran through the back of the shop, still filled with dark vials and blood magic, and left through the narrow backdoor there - and straight into Lucio. Asra sucked his teeth, trying to pull again, and found nothing. Unless-

  
  


He held out his hands in surrender.

"Already?" A metal hand that had no connection to the rest of the count closed around his throat. The face in front of him flickering, shifting between man and goat, the satisfied expression remaining. "So, sweet Asra. Did you miss me?"

His breath caught, but noted the way the hand squeezed, clever enough to threaten, but not injure. Violet eyes fluttered as he tried to hold still. “Like the plague,” Came a murmur that preceded a smirk.

"Without it, you'd be nothing." Sickly sweet breath in heavy clouds hung in Asra's face. "Just a little piece of dirt still stuck in the street like a dead rat. Without  _ me  _ \-- nothing."

A dark looked passed over the magician’s face, attempting to banish thoughts of what felt like another life on the docks, alone.

Asra scoffed past the hand. “You made me, just to turn you into an angry ghost goat?” He twisted under the grip that was beginning to lift his feet from the ground.

"Ah. Still the  _ funny  _ one. I knew it was still in there." The second hand patted Asra's cheek, slightly too hard, but not hard enough for a slap. "You showed me the magnificence of pacts and deals, my dearest, me, who was always one who conquered. If I’d only remembered earlier how much power..." A laugh rose from the air around him, the ground below trembling.

Asra sighed, hands finally coming up to attempt to wrench the hand from his neck. “Yeah, so... now what?” He gasped. “This is the best you can do?” 

" _ No _ ."

And he was gone, just like that. Asra felt his own blood running down his back, hot and thick and turning into a leech, long and dark and slimy and crawling down his leg.

  
  


The place inhaled. Exhaled, slowly, focused, an asthmatic controlling his panicked breathing, and with every bit of air that went things became a bit  _ smaller _ .  _ Tighter _ . The trees approached, closed in around him, soldiers approaching an escaped prisoner, becoming prison themselves, bars of iron wood that threatened to crush the magician.

“ What do you want?” Asra tried, fighting the claustrophobia, dashing to smear blood over the bars, holding them  _ just  _ enough to get them to mold around a small radius.

"Take a wild guess, magic man..."

“Then do it.” Asra shrugged, pacing backward in a circle, holding out bloody hands. “Kill me, beat me up, crush me...” Then he smirked again, “... but you can’t, can you? You’re just as useless dead as you were alive.”

Breathing deeply, he pulled his shoulder, breath hitching as he ripped the tear in his back open, urging himself to bleed harder.

"I'm keeping my promise, dearest Asra, because your lost friend keeps his. You, on the other hand..." Lucio's voice was sweet and almost dripping goodwill. "But you don't have to care about such things as the fate of others, and why should you? Lost friends, lost loves, and still only one thing you care for. Pride is such a  _ marvelous  _ thing."

“Stay out of it.”

"And what do you offer to make me?" A tiny bit tighter.  _ Squeeze _ .

Asra’s gaze narrowed, not liking the way things went down. It wasn’t what he had expected of Lucio, who was terrifying in his anger, but not too controlled. “You want to be more tangible? Fine.” His tone was sharp, making sure the blood running down his arm flicked across a fine splatter. The magician vaguely sneered, shrugging a bloody shoulder. “Go ahead...” He inhaled deeply, centering himself.

“I consent.”

A moment of almost  _ tangible  _ irritation.

"Very well then. Let's go somewhere else. Somewhere homely." The count sounded vaguely frustrated. "You remember the place, back in the palace. A golden island in the middle of a golden sea, the walls of the room turning into an infinite horizon as soon as your bare feet stepped into the golden waves." The mechanical hand was back, dipping into Asra's blood and drawing through the air around him with it, leaving crimson lines hanging in the air. "A place caught in an eternal sunset, last rays of a dying star reflecting on the shining surfaces, painting everything with a golden glow." Crimson turned into gold as he spoke, liquid first, then solidifying into chains that wrapped around the magician in a delicate pattern. With every loop, the memory came back a bit more, turned the darkness around him into the surreal shimmering chamber back in the real world.

  
  


It had been designed as a place of worship and sacrifice, even if Lucio then mainly used it for naughty stagings of how he imagined things to have been in ancient times, himself the high priest, or himself a  _ god _ . Asra had rarely taken part in those. They were for special servants, the ones that weren't too useful otherwise, and prisoners with no hope of release, and, sometimes, for Devorak.

Ilya had refused to tell him what exactly had been going on there even in his most drunken states, but the way his pale face changed when he thought of it told Asra more than he really wanted to know.

The island was made from smooth stone, polished and gilded, with an ornate altar in the middle of it. The giant goat horns that framed it were new though.

The magician’s face fell, liking his plan to play friendly until he was  _ ready  _ less and less by the second. Taking a step forward, he found himself stuck, tangled in what could be mistaken for fine jewelry. Even his attire had changed, shirt gone and wound exposed, framed.

In the depths of his mind, he recalled the pained glee on the doctor’s face, the breathy moans Asra had thought they were saved for him during their more intimate experiments, and tried not to picture the redhead there, on the altar before him. The disgust and slight trace of envy underlying it were palatable, and he shuddered.

“Homey for a cult.”

"Well  _ thank you _ ." In death, Lucio seemed more awake, more aware than in life, but that might just be the lack of glands. "Do sit down. Relax. This won't take long. You're way less amusing than I remember, but useful nonetheless."

Asra quietly set up the smallest of protective charms with the bit of blood that kept smearing down his arm, jutting up gently against the thin chains. He had an idea where he lay, his nose picking up the scent of charred wood and focused on it as he sat lackadaisically before the altar. “Says the ghost.”

“That's all, Asra?“ With every drop spilled, he seemed to gain a little life, a little solidity. “What's next? 'No, you're stupid'?“ His bloodshot eyes were twitching in irregular patterns.

“You were the one who said I didn’t care about others. And? You’re right, I don’t.” Leaning his chin on his hand, he made a bored face, pushing down the apprehension at the sight of the strengthening form. “That’s all. Do what you want, push over some vases, I’m sure that’ll make you the talk of the palace. You’ll win ‘Most annoying poltergeist.’ I know you love winning.” An eyeroll, absentmindedly flicking blood off his fingertips onto the gold. The color was only just beginning to drain from his face, but Lucio wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing him weak. Asra tried to pull his consciousness back up, like a weighted buoy trying to break the surface, but was held short.

_ This was taking too long. _

  
  


The golden hand hit him square in the face, making his ear ring and leaving deep gashes on his cheek. Lucio licked the red from his own claws, focused on the pain on the magician's face like Volta on a particularly tasty treat.

The magician huffed, looking up defiantly, before spitting out blood. It fizzled the instant it hit the floor this time, as did the blood that began to ooze out of the gash on his face, a red smoke rising into the air and evaporating. “It won’t work for long, you know. This isn’t a magical realm, it’s just a bad dream. I don’t know how you got in, but whatever you did only means this is a fraction of the power you need to fully come back.”

“Ah.“ The golden hand closed around his jaw. “What a pretty pouty face. I love it when you look at me like this.“

The grip was firmer now, enough to bring Asra to a knee. White brows knit together, but fell quickly. He remained silent. His expression, bleeding and irritated, was squashed into a grimace by gold. Another flick of his wrist, and blood splattered straight into the former Count’s eyes.

Lucio groaned. Licked his lips as the crimson drops soaked through his skin, red tears running in reverse. He bowed forward, pressing a tender kiss on an unwilling mouth. “Oh, I missed you.“

Asra froze, breath catching momentarily.

_ Only a bad dream. _

Then, inwardly sighing, he leaned into the Count. “Be honest, did you miss _me_?” The magician breathed against lips that tasted of burnt copper. The fine chains jangled as hands gripped Lucio’s collar, _fur?_ \- as he stood, knowing the altar was at his back. “Or my _power?_ ”

Asra grit his teeth and pulled the blond in, fresh blood coloring an another, deeper, kiss. 

“ I missed the  _ disgust  _ you always gave so willingly. You despise me, don't you? Tell me how much you do...“ Still close enough to make it a lover's whisper. The claw drew lines on bronze skin, leaving bleeding trails in its wake. First the chest, then the stomach, slowly wandering deeper.

The writhing and a try to twist away contradicted the gasp and short moan that left from Asra’s mouth as his hip was scratched sharp, his back hitting the shining surface of the altar. It grew into an angry grunt as red slicked hands messily ran up into the Count’s hair, teeth biting at his lip, hard, before kissing it gently. The magician grew silent, back arching, feeling as if he was falling away from the surface, down, and letting the weight of the water he had sunken into crush him.

“I hate you.”

“ How much do you hate me, little Asra? Little street urchin, little orphan, all lost and alone?“ The claw tore through the fabric that had still covered the magician's hips. Something dark was in Lucio's voice, a lusty and hungry  _ hiss _ .

Hands pulled at blond hair, forcefully, and Asra sighed and let his head fall back momentarily.

“I killed you once and I would do it again, you bastard.” A spiteful grin he forced on his face, breath falling unsteadily as the skin of his thighs was dug into. Every scratch, every drop of blood only served to make the ghostly form stronger and stronger still, and Asra began to wonder in the back of his mind if this had all been a trap.

“ You didn't kill me, sweet little magician. Didn't have the guts to do it. Had so many chances to  _ try _ , and never once did. A little poison in my wine, or the wrong medicine...“ A warm, so very human hand sneaked its way between Asra's legs. “You do  _ consent _ , don't you?“

  
  


Violet eyes grew dark, shadowed by white hair. The magician gaped down and inhaled unevenly. A tiny pool of blood had started to drip at his feet, and he could feel the protective charm buckle.

Asra looked up into bloodshot plagued eyes pointedly, and nodded. The charm slipped away.

Lucio's touch was experienced. Pleasant even. During his life, he famed his skills as a lover, and between all the bad things Nadia called him, it was never about his qualities between the sheets. Maybe that he was loveless, that he didn't make her heart beat like she needed it, but never about lack of  _ technical  _ skill.

  
  


Asra felt the dead man will something into being that coated his fingers, ectoplasm or mucus or something worse, and felt one finger, warm and slimy, slip into him with ease.

He sucked in a breath, drawing up a knee just so, pushing back into the touch. Fingernails dug into the back of the Count’s neck, and he found himself squirming. Hissing another breath as the finger teasingly prodded, the magician glared through fluttering eyelashes.

“I hate you.” It was weaker than before, breathier than he had intended.

“ I know.“ A second finger, spreading him apart without much ado. “I've been around, you know? Watched as you buried a man that was not there, with no tears in your eyes. Well, Jules, he cried, of course he did, but making him cry is like stealing candy from a kid.“ Lucio's voices sounded strangely distant. At this stage he usually was way too much into whatever he was doing to start with  _ introspection _ . Never one of his strong sides anyway.

And at that, a claw gripped at his bent knee, adding more wounds, small but incessant, and Asra gasped.

“ I was  _ elated  _ you were gone.” More red droplets, dissolving, pressure inside of the magician increasing. “I never wanted to see you again.” The words were rushed, spat, despite the breathless intonation.

“ It made me a bit sad, you know? Expected quite a bit more dancing on graves. Maybe an elegant snake performance, you tend to bring the props for those. But you see, the wonderful thing is...“ A tiny pause in his words as he filled Asra with himself, unexpectedly hard and big and somehow  _ weird _ , the shape of his cock as off and fluctuating as his own, “... you will  _ love  _ me. In the end, you  _ all will _ .“

Another, fainter, moan left Asra’s lips, hips rolling as the odd sensation eased him open, and as much as he wanted to back up -away, he felt the altar dig into this spine, very real and cold. The blond tried to meet his gaze, but he turned away.

“ I’d rather die.”  _ And if you decide to finish me, I’ll wake up. Hopefully. _

  
  


Lucio's laughter sounded more like the bleating of a goat. “You don't get to choose, dearest. And you'll want it, in the end you will. Let me give you just the tiniest taste...“

Panic arose in Asra gut as Lucio’s grip, ever stronger, held him firm with a sudden thrust. Cheeks grew flushed, eyes sliding shut, and the Count laughed harder.

“It won’t work.” Asra shook his head, cheeky smirk crossing his face. “You’ll always just be a pain in my ass.”

The slap he somehow expected didn't come. Instead it was Lucio repeating himself.  _ You will love me. You all will _ , accentuating every word with a new, deep thrust. The count's mind was somewhere else, and Asra felt the boil of unclean magic build deep down in Lucio's body.

_ This is a nightmare. _

A new, growing sense of dread overcame Asra as the man’s form bent more into that of a goat, the shadow of horns passing over his face.

“ Lucio,  _ no _ .”

Blood ran cold, and before he could help it, another, longing moan left his mouth. “That wasn’t the-“ The magician’s heart jumped into his throat, his own pulse used against him. With every beat, his blush deepened, and the worst feeling of  _ affection  _ for the blond seeped in, an infection sprang from the depths of the goat’s core.

“Just kill me.” He whispered, before joining back together in a loving kiss.

“What a waste that would be.“ Lucio's voice caught between their lips. “I'll make you my little plaything, my sweet little wizard slave, bound with gold underneath your clothing, always at my service, and you'll call upon those from the other realms who ask me for my favor for me. Your head in my lap while we discuss politics, and your body in their... whatever they have.“

The way he moved now, he touched the bronze skin, spoke of honest affection and could almost be counted as tender.

Asra keened softly, knowing this was much worse than he had anticipated. He has at least hoped for some sort of out of body experience, peeling away from his longing, but instead it was  _ real _ , it was his, and it burned through his veins. The words he tried to form in his lungs folded around themselves and when he uttered ‘I need you to kill me’ it only fell “I need you to...  I need you.” And he curled into Lucio’s touch, a mess of want, wrapping a leg around the goat’s waist and burying his cock deeper still.

“ Oh, I  _ know _ .“ Only minute movements now, keeping in as deep as possible, feeling the beat of a heart with one half missing, and it was here, probably the only place where the dead man was sensitive enough for such things, that he noticed something amiss with his new toy.

He kept his rhythm, but the bloodshot eyes were focused on Asra now, not in lust, but in irritation.  _ What was this hollow inside, where his magic, his will, disappeared into like wine in a barrel without bottom? _

Breath fell erratically, the platinum head of hair dropping back hopelessly as muscles clenched about the strange firmness inside of him. Clotting wounds disrupted the connection, and Asra jerked back, growling at the blond, nails digging into the arms pinning him. “ _ Kill me _ .” Violet eyes implored Lucio, looking down at him through half lidded lashes as the magician’s back arched, losing all sense of himself again like a leaf taken by heavy rain.

The pain came suddenly and knocked Asra back, back over the smooth surface of the altar and onto the golden ground. He felt the skin over his knees break at the impact, but the pain in his jaw made it a minor nuisance. Lucio had  _ hit  _ him, hit him with the back of his gauntlet, and it felt like something in his face had shattered, just like that.

The goat squatted on the altar, staring down on him the despising way only goats can when they decide something isn't even worth being eaten. Blood dripped upwards, coloring little red spots into the white fur before they disappeared.

His jaw was broken, his mouth couldn’t move,  _ but it wasn’t enough _ . A scream sounded from his throat, a sad mangled thing, and tears welled up in his eyes. Hate emanated from his form, and he slammed down a frustrated fist.

“You can do that yourself, you know, my sweet little magic user? Because you, of course, don't need me. Not at all.“ The goat moved, shifted, came to lounge luxuriously on its belly, coquettish somehow. “But I of course won't mind to give you a hand...“

A wide grin as it offered the gauntlet, just in the right height for the throat of a kneeling man. “Knock yourself out, if that's your thing.“  _ I need to talk to Him. There's more to you than he let on. _

Asra cried in frustration, letting his head sink into his arms, thin gold strands rattling with a few small overwhelmed sobs. Then, he huffed heavily through his nose, anger pitting confidence back in his glare. Hoisting himself up to his knees, blood poured from his mouth.   Without much hesitation after that, he grabbed the golden hand and closed it around his throat tightly. The moment after that, he held up his hand and gestured the last thing he felt appropriate toward the Count, before  _ leaning  _ his full weight onto it, screaming again at the pain that cracked through his jaw. Screwing his eyes shut, he willed himself find the woodsmoke and the bend of the blankets wrapped around him, so close  _ but so slow _ .

  
  


“ I love you.“ A soft whisper, somewhere behind his forehead, through the pain and the pulse and the swollen eyes, not from Lucio or this plane or the other, but somewhere that might well be the other part of his sold heart, just remembering something, or having felt a tinge of the dead man's magic, but somehow directing it at  _ him _ .

_ Wake up. _

His throat burned, air stifled, and red hot white pain blinded Asra-

  
  


And he gasped aloud, eyes wide to an empty and dark room in his small sanctuary, outside and away from Vesuvia. The magician leap up, inhaling sharply and grasping for his throat, and neck, arms, chest. Nothing. No blood. No chains. No bruising.

_ Nothing. A terrible dream. _

Asra took a deep breath, a vague protective charm blossoming up around him, as he crumpled. The relief that hit him was heavy, and he swooned back on his bed.

He was completely turned on, and groaned in aggravation. And despite the revulsion and anger that still burned through him, the memory of the way his heart burned, compared to the  _ sympathy  _ that sat in his gut chilled him.

Back arching, he set both hands to work in an attempt to burn the longing out of his blood.

 


	4. Hideaway (F!Apprentice/Muriel)

She was wet.

Her pussy tingling, an itch she could not scratch, not here, not now, not with _him_ of all people.

Muriel had been kind enough to take her in on this rainy night, not as a favor to her, but to her teacher, and had laid down at her side after neither the fire nor Inanna's warm fur had managed to calm her shivering body. They had fallen asleep that way, her head on his chest, the rest wrapped around him in a try to get every bit of warmth he could provide, and now...

She had awoken in the darkness, not quite sure where she was, just that there was a slight fever in her head and another one between her legs, and that he smelled really nice and that she wanted to hump against him like a horny teenager. She didn't. Just lay there instead, listening to his slow heartbeat and cursing her own inappropriate needs.

By now, she understood in parts why he didn't like her. Losing a friend over a love wasn't a nice thing, and she had always been a believer in the wisdom of bros before hoes. The brief idea of suggesting a threesome to get the boys back together didn't improve the state she was in, adding a longing shudder to the general distress in her pelvis.

_Breathe. Relax_. She tried it, tried to empty her mind, only to find her body inching even closer to his the moment she let go, rubbing against his leg. _Dammit. Just get up and leave him his peace. Don't be a creep_. She sighed silently. _Or just behave. It's just been a while._

It had. There was Asra, but there wasn't. The way he looked at her, sometimes touched her, full of longing, made her think he _wanted_ her, really did, but didn't want to abuse the teacher-student-relationship between them. Still they slept in one bed, because it was warm and the shop was small, and sometimes she was even glad when he went traveling, because it was the only time she could follow her _needs_. Damn. She was the _worst_.

Unfortunately, she had no idea that Muriel had been awake the whole time. His thoughts too stuck on the fact of how much more _real_ she was to him now than before. Suddenly _there_ beside him, wanting to see him. Suddenly staying. _Wanting_ him.

Obviously.

 

He hadn’t noticed it at first, dismissing the varied shifts in movement as her just not finding him comfortable, Muriel inwardly despairing after the greatest relief of having ended her earlier shivering. Then it continued, and he became suddenly aware of how the warmth of her skin only grew, differently than before. Distinctively so.

Then the soft form laying on his chest wrapped around his leg, and moved, and Muriel came to terms with the knowledge that he would have to address this situation before it could continue. Especially as it would becoming very noticeable soon.

A slow, large and gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder.

“How are you?” The question was asked quietly, as if speaking too loudly would disrupt some crucial event.

“Mh?“ Her movement calmed the instant he touched her, and she drew a deep breath, stifling a yawn. “Is it time to go already?“

_Sleepy voice. Sleepy movements. I've only been dreaming, maybe pleasant things. Don't worry. It's not about you, Muriel, I know you don't want it to be, and yet... you don't sound as horrified as I expected?_

A lazy hand ran over his chest, small and hot, and up to her head, where it rubbed dry eyes.

“No.” His large palm moved comfortingly from her shoulder to her back. “You weren’t sleeping.” Still softly spoken, careful.

The gentle call out, the slightest caress to the back of her arm, holding her to him. “Are you feeling okay?” There was doubt there, a questioning tone. A ’ _how could you actually want this?’_

“I tried to, though. Really did.“ _Because if I sleep, I may remain here, just for a while longer._ “ Can we just pretend I did? Still do, just for a little more?“ That sounded more whiny than she intended, a little girl not wanting to go to school, and she added a “Sorry. It's been a while since I've been anywhere _calm_ .“ _Or with anyone_. She felt her muscles relax under the warmth of his hand.

“Why pretend?” It was spoken just louder, enough to reverberate against her frame.

Slowly, the hand moved lower, to the small of her back. He peered down at her, before blinking away, shy.

“Too much to do, and disturbing your peace with too many words, and I haven't even managed to do what I came for and...“ She stopped. Blushed. _Too many words_ , and his hand on her skin where her blouse had ridden up while sleeping. Could it be simple, just once? Not an elaborate dance of courting and teasing, but just-- She hadn't intended the little gasp that escaped her.

 

Muriel inhaled deeply and blushed as he ran a finger through her hair, faint moonlight illuminating them in the darkness. There was a question hanging in the air, one that went unanswered, and for once, he never quite felt the foreboding feeling that sat inside his chest usually accompanied by the apprentice’s presence. A warmth, welcoming and enveloping, filled the space around them both in its place.

Her fingers ran along the stubble on his jaw, slow and shy, expecting refusal, expecting a bite. _I came here because-- No, that's not a good way to start. You and Asra-- No. I really didn't intend this, but you are so different from what I thought you'd be, and you smell so nice, and--._

For once, she did the wise thing and said nothing, her lips brushing against the skin of his chest.

A shortened breath fell as Muriel adjusted to hold her closer, hair falling before his face as he brought his hand to her backside, if only to bring the top of her head to his cheek.

If he had been another one, she would have straddled them, drowning them in hungry kisses, gathering her skirts to make things easier, but with him, it felt like he might just _break_ , a precious glass sculpture that had to be handled with care, and that surprise somehow made things even worse between her thighs. She had been expecting to be _ravaged_ and _used_ , not to be met with the tenderness and patience a big dog had with a puppy.

“Are _you_ okay?“ she repeated his earlier words in a similar, questioning tone, whispering the question against his throat, little hairs stinging her lips.

“Why?” Muriel, confused, blinked at her for a long, tense, moment. She looked at him, knowingly, and he blushed, the hand easily enveloping the back of her thigh remained there, no farther or less. He exhaled softly, adjusting her weight in his arms again, fingers brushing just closer still to where thighs met, Muriel bashfully sighing.

She silently thanked the night for the gloom that so mercifully spread over them. His face fully illuminated would have cracked her heart in two. She gently wiped the dark strands of hair away, tracing his heavy brows with her fingers. Felt _want_ rise to a high tide as she did, not quite understanding why it was that way. Something about him, that little something that felt _off_ ,  was a need or a fear she knew so very well and just _forgot_ , but that was true for so many things.

_Sleep with me._ No. She couldn't say that, even if it bore more truth than the usual _fuck me_.

_Be close, as close as you can_ , and she didn't say that either, just gently, very gently guided his hand towards the well of her current problems that was so overly abundant in his presence.

 

Looking away as green eyes slid shut, he let his hand be guided. Slowly, Muriel brought his face into her hair. It didn’t take long before a broad fingertip made the slightest contact with tender folds of skin that had been slick and warm for what felt like hours, the first sort of intimacy either of them had experienced longer than memory could easily track. He could hear her breath catch, and he repeated the gesture, less tentatively, even confident.

She had been waiting for him, easily overflowing at the first touch, and he noticed how she wanted to buck against him, so very willing to be filled, but tried her best to keep still.

His hands were rough, as she hoped they would be, and the fever spread through her whole body. She _needed_ this, needed _him_ , and if the price was to be still and docile to not scare him away, she was more than willing to pay it.

She easily parted as Muriel pressed inward just enough, immediately noticing the lack of resistance. He huffed, only nuzzling her as he continued to slip a finger deeper still, stubbled face burning as much as her depth. Nodding, he urged her rock against him.

She did, a slow, almost dancing movement against his palm, wet and wide, a first moan barely suppressed. Her legs opened up just a bit more, inviting him in. A knuckle disappeared and he pressed further, too shy to lift his head from her hair even as he felt her relax around him.

“ _More?_ “ She wasn't even sure if she managed the word or just wished for it, her whole body yearning, moving against his hand in breathless little whimpers. As long as she didn't _think_ and just tried to stay in the moment, this was all she ever wanted. Being warm and being held, away from it all.

His breath began to fall in time with hers, and a firm cock brushed against her side as she grinded into his palm, matching her pace as it picked up. Adjusting his hand, he pressed a second digit forward, caressing along the soft wet walls as they gushed around his fingers. He could feel the way she stretched, and he looked at her affectionately. Their eyes met. Locked, and remained that way as a blush rose to her head.

He thought about every other time he laid eyes on the apprentice, the usual sensation of hands running fur the wrong way, the _loss_ , frustration and anger and that foolish look on Asra’s face. It bothered Muriel that at least, as she twisted down on two of his fingers, that he understood how the magician had felt.

Her eyes were veiled, the lips dark and opened and somehow _smiling_ in delight, her hands gliding over his body, holding on like she was trying to make sure that someone was really there. She was _here_ and _with him_ right now, allowing herself to let go, and he could not decide if she was more foolish or wiser than him and the man who was once his friend.

His other hand fell to her lower back, holding onto her as she moved against him, before shifting to her face, brushing the hair from her eyes. Fingers curled comfortably inside her, again keeping in time, and he exhaled hard, the closest to a moan yet.

A tiny, breathless laugh bubbled up from her belly, and she wrapped her arms around him, drawing herself even closer and holding onto him like she had missed him for years .

The smile she gave him was _genuine_ , it tingled down his spine, spread to his face, and then they smiled at each other. A tentative one from Muriel to hers that was almost a grin.

One of her arms let go, and a hand joined him in the wetness under her skirts. A short caress of his wrist before her fingers wandered off to play with the little pearl hidden between her folds, rubbing and pinching, making her hips dance even more.

Muriel let his fingers sink into her as deep as possible, working her into short buckling movements forward against her hand and back languidly into his. A throbbing cock brushed against her parted thigh, and although he gasped he didn’t press the issue or flesh, more focused on how her tension eased as he pressed. In fact, it might have been the happiest he had seen her. Green eyes softened admiringly as his free arm held her close.

Between little moans, the half-forgotten memory of where she was returned, and that she was not alone in this. She was _considerate_ now and then, even in the state she was in, and her hand went looking for the hard thing that seemed to be aching for attention in its own right, even if it would take here longer than necessary to reach a goal that already seemed so close right now.

Again, only a soft touch at first, waiting for his reaction.

When her attention fell to him, he only shook his head, seeing the concern spread across her features. Shifting her hand away from his girth, he adjusted her weight to fall more easily onto him, positioning a knee between her legs, supporting his hand there and giving her better range of movement.

He did _want_ her, but not enough to distract her with his own needs, the moon’s faint glow still illuminating her hair and flushed cheeks. That was enough for Muriel.

“Are you sure?“ Still smiling, sun in her voice. “Or just _later_?“

Blushing, he just shook his head and set her hand back between her legs. It wasn’t something to consider at that moment.

She didn't press the subject and kissed his cheek instead before she went back to caring for herself. Her breathing started to change, deeper and slower, focus wandering through her body like a traveler through hilly plains.

He cradled her, fingers inside her twisting gently as her breath curled against the skin of his chest. Only burying his face into her hair again, he contentedly sighed.

She spasmed around him soon. Clenched her thighs and held his hand inside her with her own, pushing even deeper. A frustrated little moan. A little more, just-- “You don't mind, do you?“ Slight desperation in her voice.

Muriel watched her, captivated by her expression and the warmth that continued to well up down to his palm. He missed what she had asked. “What?”

She giggled and told him between excited little sighs, her hand guiding his ring finger further down into the slippery chasm between her cheeks. It seemed she needed all the love she could get.

It was Muriel’s breath that hitched as he found her relax enough to take him in as she was, tight still around his ring finger but finding little resistance. Instantaneously, she rest of her melted into him, and it felt as if she seeped into his core; holding onto the beautiful unfurling form he broadly framed.

The way over the edge from here was a short one, bucking and sighing and quivering, eyes wide and black. She was still looking _at_ him as she came, something that just didn't happen, lips swollen and red and smiling in bliss, whispering little thank yous as she tightened and grew wide and relaxed.

He brought a tender hand to her hair, his lips awkwardly to her face, her forehead, eyes. Followed by faint and pointed connections varied in small touches, kisses and sighs. Shortened breaths fell in between hers, a nuzzle expressing how welcome she was while words failed.

“You sure you don't want to...?“

Her thumb tracing his cheekbone while any tension left her body, his fingers still buried within her, hot and pulsing.

Muriel leaned into her touch, eyes shining. Even still, he shook his head, expression falling, but only in passing.

“Think I made a mess...“ She didn't sound sorry in the slightest, and yes, she had, wetness dripping down between his fingers onto his nice and clean bed, a fragrance of sex and human and _her_.

A snort indicated a laugh, hardly seeming to mind. He almost didn’t realize just how tightly he had come to hold her, hyper aware of her every movement.

Soon after, she fell asleep, a trait usually ascribed to men, even snoring softly. Getting rid of the wetness on his fingers added even more stains to his sheets. Her arm was still around him, her head heavy on his shoulder.

And for once, for the first time in recent memory, Muriel felt new warmth in his chest bloom when considering another. Not just another, but _her_ , real. Softly snoring in his arms. The sigh that escaped him was content, cheek affectionately buried in her hair.

Shortly after, he too fell into a sound sleep, body protectively cradling hers.

___

 

She left early in the morning, the sun barely rising, and did so with a kiss on his cheek and another _sorry_ , knowing so well he didn't like to be disturbed in his loneliness. Her warmth remained between the sheets and the furs for quite a while, like she had just gotten up to make tea.

 

Green eyes cracked open, focusing on the slumbering form of Inanna as sunlight just began to steam through the window. Muriel’s heart jumped slightly at the memory of the form in his arms when- It struck him she had been gone far too long from his side.

She was gone.

His heart sank, familiar emptiness welling up within him. Of course she had left, fleeing before she could be ashamed. Briefly, it occurred to him that she taken also taken with her the myrrh, and a hope dared to peek through. But just as quickly, he shoved the idea aside like the furs, already planning his day as if nothing had happened.

Later, when Inanna came to him for some closeness with her packmate, he found something on her that did not belong, tied around her paw and fastened with a little bow. A silken cord with a little pendant, the one the apprentice had worn around her neck.

 

Muriel blinked at it, wondering briefly it if was some kind of trick, before hope cracked through a hardened shell and allowed the light in his chest to grow.

Holding it in his palm, thoughts that he had withheld since their meeting flooded his memory. Her form curled against his own, her heated flesh shifting and tightening around his fingers. Blood threatened to drain downward, and he thanked Inanna and stood, forgetting what exactly he had been doing before, the pendant clutched tightly in his hand.

 

 


	5. Judging (Valerius/The Devil)

 

A knock on the door.

That was a thing that happened sometimes, even when the shop was already closed, but before all the lights had been put out. Usually it was someone discreet (so lucrative) or with a very urgent (also lucrative) problem.

Asra was just about to ascend the stairs when he had heard it, casting a quick glance up in the direction his love, currently asleep in bed. With a casual shrug, the magician moved to the door, already sensing a distinctive presence behind it. Nothing one way or another, just _there_ as he creaked open the door.

“We were about to close, but if you are in need of something--“ Asra trailed off as he eyed the visitor; a courtier from the palace, poorly concealed by a luxurious cloak, stood before him.

He didn’t wait to stand aside and usher the figure in, carefully closing shop behind them.

“I may be.” A cultured, low voice that sounded a bit disgruntled with the whole situation. “A little bird sung to me that you could be the help I need.“

His guest took his steps like he owned the place, heels clacking on the wooden floor, hood still over his head.

Asra smiled enigmatically, concealing the vague concern for the occupant upstairs. “What can I help you with?” He moved to the counter, lamps catching light around him and into the back, soft light spilling throughout the room.

“I’ve been having... _peculiar_ dreams for a few months. While they've been there for years, recently they have... changed. Cost me sleep I really could use.“

His face still in shadows, just an idea of a smooth chin and elegant lips.

"So, something to help you sleep?" Asra began as he walked behind the counter and beside a display of teas, oils, and glass vials. He looked through them, before back to the courtier.

“I don't lack _sleep_ as such, but the rest it brings. Something to make my nights less vivid, perhaps?“ Long, smooth fingers with polished nails traced the patterns of the wooden table that stood between him and Asra.

He absently noticed how soft the man's hands had to be from how they ran over the surface, before an idea came to him. Maybe the _presence_... "It could be that you are receiving a message. Have you considered what your dreams might be trying to tell you?" The magician leaned on his elbows on the counter before the visitor's hands, looking up questioningly.

“Trying to tell me?“ An ‘ _Are you serious?_ ’ he was too polite laid below his words.

If it wasn't for the articulated voice, his visitor might as well have been a lady, but who was he to care.

"You've been having them for a while, you said, haven't you?" A brow quirked, "So, don't you think that maybe since they've changed, it might be important?"

“What shall a ram tell me, good man? Something about virility and my need for a holiday in the countryside?“ Asra _heard_ the eyeroll.

At the question, Asra shook his head and got up from the counter.

"A ram? What were you dreaming before that?" With a quick gaze cast in the direction of the staircase, he walked out from the behind the counter pointedly. "If you'd like, we can take the discussion to the back, and I can try to be of more assistance."

“Will you share a drink with me, if I'm keeping you from closing shop? It's the least courtesy I can give.“

It felt like a requirement to do business with him.

It wasn't long before the man was sat down at the table in the back room. Asra fetched two glasses from a cabinet after he had closed the rest of the front, cut off the lights and drew the curtain closed behind him. "Now, how long did you say you've been having these dreams?" He set a glass down before the courtier, who had yet to drop his hood.

A pale hand reached out to snuff the lonely candle on the table, flooding the room on darkness. Asra heard him fill their glasses before the rustle of rich fabric told him the cloak had been taken off.

The rich, sweet smell of spiced wine filled the air around them. “Your choice of glass.“

The only light to be seen was that of a distant street lamp that barely filtered through to the closed curtains of the shop, violet eyes taking their time to adjust to the dark. Before long it was enough to make out the outline of his guest. Soft robes, long hair, and stark profile, but little else.

Asra considered the wine, inwardly touching base with his familiar in case something was about to go wrong, with instructions to alert the sleeping form upstairs should the worst happen. Not that he felt any ill will coming off the visitor, only a mild frustration.

Within a moment, the man had chosen the one closest to him. “Thank you,” With a nod, he smiled graciously into the dark.

He heard the courtier sigh. Sniff, and take a sip. Sigh again.

“It's an old motif that comes to me again and again, like a bard’s favorite joke told every time he sees the object of his _wit_. It is quite tiring.”

The magician listened on in silence, before taking a sip himself.

“And this is a _ram_ that you’re seeing?” There was a tension to the courtier then, a nagging in the back of his mind.

“Horns. Spiraled, in a way you might find on a garish piece of armor made to impress. Not always on an animal, sometimes... just there. Sometimes on something that might be a man but is not, face hidden behind a veil of stars. He seems, well, disappointed?“ Another sip, and for a brief moment his soft hand on Asra's arm. “Please do not suggest he's a stand-in for my father. That idea has been discussed.“

A harsh breath, not unlike a snort, at the suggestion. "That's wasn't my first thought," Asra casually sipped the wine again, heady and aromatic. "I was going to say, if it's changed recently, it might be a deeper part of yourself that is trying to get free."

“Is this a metaphor for something I'm supposed to do? It's not like I can avoid butting heads anyway.“ He sounded like he didn’t really mind that.

After a bemused moment, Asra considered, leaning slightly onto the table. “So, what are you _actually_ looking for?” Looking hard at the silhouette of his guest’s face, he tried to discern a reaction.

“A few moments of peace and quiet,“ came after two sips of wine, and it came with a heavy sigh. “It doesn't feel like I have had that in years.“

An odd silence fell over the otherwise cozy darkened room, Asra not wanting to provoke the tension he noticed still present in the other. Eventually, it grew uncomfortable, and the magician shifted in his seat. "No rest while waking, no rest while sleeping. Hm, well. If you are trying to avoid your dreams, it's easy, but not recommended."

“You will excuse if I put it this way, but if I saw any other viable option, I wouldn't have ended up here. The kind of things you deal in aren't of the kind of things I have use for.“

Asra could have been offended if he wanted to be, but saw no reason for it, as courtiers were never the most friendly bunch, and the wine was quite nice.

“But how have the dreams _changed_ lately? Have you any feelings of foreboding? Have you seen anything while awake?”

“Someone in my position would not stay there long without a constant feeling of looming danger and an eye for strange things. Please, try to be more specific.“ A short, thoughtful dab with his fingers on Asra's wrist, a teacher to an unruly child, patient still.

Inwardly, the magician groaned, otherwise unnoticeably perturbed by the exchange. After a gulp of the wine, he straightened, eyes focused on the shadowed figure. “If it appears that there is some sort of message being sent to you in your dreams, maybe you should try to hear it out? It might be a warning.”

“Or the stress getting to me. There's nobody I worship enough to warrant getting a warning, nice as that would be.“ The low chuckle of a non-believer, “There's no need to worry about me, shopkeep. There was worse, and there will be worse.“

Asra was glad for the dark in that moment, for it hid his scowl.

"Alright. It is late. There is an essential oil you can put into a drink before bed, only two drops. It'll ease you into a state of relaxation." The magician stood from the table. "Thank you for the wine, you were too kind." The words were stiff, rehearsed.

“How much do I owe you?“

It seemed he actually intended to pay.

Before answering, he collected the appropriate vial and returned to the table, to find the hood restored to his guest's head. With that, he brought up the candlelight again, long hair the only noticeable thing peeking out from the cloak. Holding in yet another sigh, Asra placed a small thin blue glass bottle down on the table. It was shortly accompanied by a not so small bag of coins that clinked together as they hit the surface. It was more than enough. "One more word of caution, on the chance that your dreams should persist or grow worse, please let me know."

The money was quickly pocketed before the courtier could protest.

  
***

 

In the end, Valerius was just glad to be out of there. There was a reason he avoided places like that. People like that.

The shopkeep had kept to his role. Feigning interest and losing it quickly as he figured no additional coin would be gathered by trying to manipulate him into becoming emotional or too honest. Becoming even a bit angry, though that seemed nothing the young man was used to. _Too used to getting his way. Hm._

His coachman had waited around the corner, and as they rolled through the nightly streets, Valerius watched the outside world with... not disgust, that was too strong of a word, but it went into the right direction. The young consul did not belong here, but outside to his manor and his acreage. Alas Lucio's will was stronger than anything he had to oppose that barbaric parvenu.

But then, it was more than Lucio, wasn't it? It was the feeling the city needed him, like it needed his father and the fathers before him. They had always served Vesuvia, and it was in his blood to do it too. He _knew_ it. That was what they bred and raised him for, wasn't it?

_Wasn't it?_

That was one of the things the ram seemed to ask. Why he was here, and if he was deserving. Competent enough, and eager enough, and always, always, there was an air of disappointment around the majestic creature.

Valerius _wanted_ to be good enough, even though he'd rather eat broken glass than admit it to a stranger, and he was vaguely angry about the shopkeeper's questions. It was none of his business, and the consul felt rather silly to tell him about the _other_ dreams, those that were new and full of promises. He wasn't a lonely man, so those couldn't be attributed to physical desires remaining unfulfilled, and yet, there was something about that darkness, so magnificent and absolute, that was arousing and calming at the same time.

He noticed his own fingers caressing his throat as he sunk into memories of pleasant dreams and felt himself blushing hard in the coach's plushy twilight.

 

***

 

The ride back felt like an eternity. The consul turned and turned the glass vial in his hands, still cool and smooth, held it like a last seed of hope.

He wasn't desperate. Valerius never was, or would at least never put it into words, but he was _tired_ , and the little chat had drained the last of his energy for the day. It could not go on like this. There was work to do, way too much work, and with so many people working against him or into their own pockets, he didn't know how to go at it anymore.

The liquid inside was oily, lazy, clinging to the surface, and it worried him to need such solutions. For the first time, wine had been enough, giving enough of a buzz to keep out noise and doubt that brought the dreams, or was it the other way round? For a moment the instinct to crush the vial, to watch the shards draw blood from his hand took him over, and he shook his head. No. This was not his kind of drama.

  


"You, come here. Drink."

"Master?" The servant girl followed with wide eyes. For all she knew, he could have turned into Lucio, poisoning people just for fun, and for all he knew, she might be right. Between gold and marble and windows with high arches, he sat at a delicate table, his long legs crossed, and motioned towards a glass with dark wine he had just prepared. _Two drops. No more._

The scared thing did as she was told, expecting the worst. Valerius waited. Wide eyes still stared at him. Nothing.

Waited still.

And, suddenly, the girl swooned, crumpling onto the ground with a soft thump.

The consul allowed himself a little approving smile before calling for someone to carry her out.

That was more efficient than he had hoped, way more, in fact. Two drops efficient enough to to get rid of an unwelcome guest at a party, or maybe even during a debate… Well worth the money, it seemed. He needed to experiment, but that could wait. For now...

  


His sleeping attire wasn't much different from his waking one. He needed to be presentable at all times, so both things too transparent and things with fluffy bunnies on them were out of the question. He sat in his bed, glass with wine and one drop in hand. Hesitated. Added a second one, then. They wouldn't disturb him until noon if it was avoidable in any way.

He raised his glass to no one in particular, and mumbled a “Cheers, shopkeep. Let's hope it works for me too.“

  


And so, the consul drank, shortly after dimming his bedside lamp off. Laid back into the comfort of his bed, closing his eyes under the silken sleeping mask.

Waited, as he had before.

And waited.

  


Withholding an inward bout of frustration, the man tried to let go. _Like I never tried that before. Maybe another drop? Your legs are heavy, warm and heavy..._ Awareness clung to him, keeping him afloat as he attempted to sink back into the depths of an ever elusive night of restful sleep. At that moment, however, it was not only all of his waking responsibilities and dread weighing on him, but the added insult of failure to achieve such a simple task. _Any peon can do this. Maybe some hard manual labor..._ The desperation was unbecoming, and he tried to forget the trying tone of the impertinent shopkeep’s warning.

  


"Good evening, Valerius."

Life slowly came back to the lamp at the sound of a rich and deep dulcet voice before him, bringing weak illumination throughout the room. The consul sat up suddenly, affronted by the disruption, but was kept in an unexpected silence by the sight set before him. The figure of a man, no, more somehow, stood before him in the light, some good years older than he and adored in black and golden vestments that shimmered even in the darkened room. Dark eyes with fine wrinkles smiled at him from a face crowned with golden laurels. They sat on greying hair pulled up into a loose bun, framing features that had aged like a fine wine. Even the full beard was a pleasant addition instead of that Valerius usually considered nothing but a nuisance, tickling and hiding things that should not be hidden. But there was more to him than him than an admittedly pretty face, most could have that with enough effort, but something about the way he held himself, something about his _presence_ tickled something in Valerius that had been asleep for a long time: a feeling of adoration, like he felt it in his childhood for the kings of yore, more god than human.

"I deeply apologize for the interruption, my dear Consul. I know how tired you have been. However, your persistent efforts have been noted, and have warranted a reward."

"A reward?" Valerius laughed, a tad hysterical maybe. Wondered if he should call for the guards, and if they would tell of his madness if they found nobody but him is his rooms. "All I wish for right now is a reward even the most simple man can get so easily get."

Maybe he was sleeping, dreaming already, but this felt so real, but then, he could not know what what the servant girl was dreaming. Maybe of her own gods, or whatever she wanted to love. Wasn't that what people dreamed of?

A throaty laugh met his own, and the man smiled at him then with his lips only. A wrist elegantly turned over the bed.

"Oh, but that is exactly what I've come to grant you. Rest."

"You surely are the strangest assassin I've met in the last two circles. What will be your weapon of choice? A blade? Your hands, to make it nice and personal?" Valerius' gaze focused on long fingers, their tips colored black by ink or ash, then again on the beautiful face.

Another rich laugh followed, the stranger utterly amused now, delight shining in his eyes. It faded, and the vaguest menace filtered into the man's smile with the briefest glint of teeth. Just as quickly, it was gone.

"You misunderstand me, child." A look to the bed, before back at Valerius. "May I take a seat?" There appeared to be no malice in his tone, only patience.

"Please. Offer yourself a drink while you're at it." He vaguely pointed towards the little table with its assortment of interesting bottles.

"Thank you." The figure moved to sit on the bedside, seeming to ignore the rest of the consul's offer. Vestments splayed attractively, catching the light, the laurels glimmering. Just as the consul made a mental note to copy this way of sitting down to make the fabric of his robes fall just that perfectly, the stranger leaned in on a hand toward him. Their gazes locked, and yet he was unable to discern what color the dark eyes were, black in the shadows.

"You have been working hard to serve Vesuvia for so long, Valerius. Your entire life you have worked toward the goal of bringing order to where there is none. You have no time for incompetency. These matters are too important."

The consul shifted slightly under the other's eye, one that seemed to pass through him, reading him on the spot. Even though it felt nice to get some recognition, this felt like a buildup to something unpleasant.

"You fear so much. Control slipping away, little by little. You let it paralyze you." It was a soft chiding, the bearded man's head tilting just so. Just as he felt the urge to defend himself, the figure held up a hand to silence him.

"I can help."

  


Anger rose under Valerius' well-tempered surface. Was it that obvious that things didn't turn out the way he imagined them? Had the man not been that he was, not that perfect, finely crafted creature that might have been found guarding and ancient temple, he would have told him off, but...

"You offer the impossible, much as I may wish you could."

Another smile broke out over the stranger's face, nearly a smirk.

"Nothing is impossible, not for me." Leaning back, the man straightened proudly. Even more than before, nobility radiated off him, a creature from the heavens having come down to… _to do what? Make me an offer I can’t refuse?_

"You are no fool, Valerius. Surely you are aware by now that I'm not some mere figment of your sleep deprived mind. What I am is much deeper..." Shadows grew in the room then, and the consul cast a glance to the lamp to see if it had dimmed again. It had not, _of course not_ , and for a heartbeat he marveled at the stranger’s staging,"... and more vast than you can possibly comprehend. Not just anyone can call upon me, and you have been trying for some time now."

"I..." He wanted to deny that claim, but then, had he never? Never tried to ask the spirits of his heroes from the past for advise? Never wished for a wise king or a savvy general at his side to help with the general horribleness that was Vesuvia and its inhabitants?

"I can't even call you by the title and the name you deserve." He lowered his head, the tiniest touch of shame over his own weakness flickering in his heart.

"Oh, Valerius." A deep, but affectionate, laugh rumbled from the man once more. Before the sinking feeling could drag him down any further, however, a caress to his jaw bid him look up. Dark eyes smiled at him in the lamplight; the elegant creature beamed warmly.

"I am here, to give you what you have so rightly earned." A strong hand gripped his own, all of the being's attention set keenly upon him, burning through him. "Rest, aid, and whatever else you may ask of me. I am here for _you_." A gentle squeeze, the perfect face obscured by darkness. A little light caught the curve of the man's nose and cheekbone as he leaned in.

"I only ask a single favor in return."

The unexpected touch saw him turn into stone. This was too good. This was too easy, and the... Valerius' mind wanted to use _god_ , but he decided on _being_ , keenly aware that he had not given a name, but then, he was _beautiful_ , and whatever that favor was, the young consul could still refuse, and he was strong enough of will to do so, wasn't he?

"And what kind of favor will that be?" _Very good, Valeri. Don't let him hear the angry bees in your stomach._

"For a lack of title or name to address me by, call yourself mine. For the night." The words were spoken kindly, plain. "I vow, by morning, you will have had the best rest of your life."

Valerius felt his brows rise together with prickling of heat rising to his chest. Tried a half-smile. "This still does not rule out you being an assassin. Invite a man to your fire so he'll be warm for the night, burn him so he'll be warm for the rest of his life."

A smug smile crept back over the man's face in response.

"When you awake tomorrow, you will be a man renewed. A son of Vesuvia ready to lead it."

It felt so very, very tempting, and like a very, very bad idea at the same time,  but then, these were desperate times. The young consul knew he couldn't go on like this, not for long, and a night with a mysterious stranger... _Lucio would.  In a heartbeat. Probably would be on all fours already, spread wide._ He sighed, and bowed to place a kiss on the being's hand as an answer, not a courteous one, but one that _touched_ , one that lingered. He was not used to being the one who _served_ , and the idea excited him.

A pregnant pause followed.

Then, another gentle touch under his chin. A single finger guided him back up. The figure before him had only shifted closer to where he sat in bed, closer that he had been yet. This close, the grey hair caught some errant rays of light, even in the gloom that filled the room.

Gazing intently at Valerius, the stranger drew him in before running an attentive hand over the consul’s well kept braid. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

"A _yes_ indeed," he hissed, barely bringing the confession over his lips. It already made him feel dirty to admit that, yes, he did indeed want this. Maybe his weak flesh craved the being's touch more than his mind sleep and advice, and the idea shamed him. He tried to avoid the gaze that saw too much, that seemed to strip him bare without much effort. Flickering impressions of one that still seemed too flawless, too immaculate to be real, and he felt a shiver tense his shoulders.

Satisfaction grew over the stranger’s face, even as it drew nearer still, Valerius looking anywhere else.

“Don’t be so ashamed, my dear consul.”

The voice was soft, even as his chin was pointedly returned to face the stranger with a burning gaze. He was a hare before the talons of a hawk. Still, his hand was lead up. It stopped right before the shimmering golden laurels, no, the loose knot of hair on top of his head. The man smirked at Valerius, watching the range of restrained emotion pass over his face as his hand was guided through the grey silk of his mane. Bun coming undone, the hair cascaded across his shoulders, the consul’s hand left at the back of the beautiful creature’s skull.

“It’s alright,” The tone urged him to let go, to give in, the other finger at Valerius’ chin running down his neck to the neckline of his robe. They were close enough to for their breath to intermingle, close enough that his mind began to will the distance closed.

"I'm not." The slightest protest, lips brushing over the other's as he spoke. He was not, was he? Had never been... His fingertips searched for the scalp under the grey, gently brushing along the roots, against their grain, tiny spikes tickling his nerve endings. Something about the way the being was, smelled, felt, tickled him too, an old memory that was not quite there. Maybe a dream this time? _You've called for me. How can I call for something I couldn't even imagine? Not in the flesh. Not in my arms._

Before he was aware, his other hand had been guided onto a firm muscled shoulder. The being loomed over him as he sat against his pillows, feeling a damsel about to be swept away. Still, tension sat in his body, the last solid brick in a damn about to break.

“Let go, Valerius, I have you.” Words whispered over his mouth preceded lips, impossibly soft and sweet, capturing his in a tender kiss.

It was a hit from one of the long-stemmed pipes he smoked opium with on bad days, sweet and sticky and poisonous, wrapping his mind in velvet ribbons. Valerius melted, felt how his body did, easing so willingly into the stranger's arms, while his mind watched with some curiosity.

Of course, had the circumstances been different, he would not be in his current position. Had he not been driven to the debasement of seeking help from some glorified dealer, had he not been driven to the point of absolute sleep deprivation, had he not held with such steadfastness his determination to give Vesuvia the best of himself... Valerius would, in fact, not be the person he was. If that meant giving this man, this _entity_ , his mortal hull of himself, just for a single night, then so be it. The hand on the small of his back stopped his thoughts from pooling into a strange mood. He wanted this, his body did, but this was very much not the position he was used to. It might be his hand pressing down, and someone else's body hot on his skin, and he mused if he felt to them like _this_ , like he just _owned_ them and it was the way things used to be, should be, and he felt the flush on his skin, and the kisses he placed on his master... the stranger's neck. Kisses first, and small bites later.

Soft laughter reverberated against his lips then, and he noticed a blackened finger pull down the blanket that covered him. It left him cold, exposed, and left more than willing to replace the warmth with the body before him. Arms came to hold him, golden vestments pressed close, close enough for Valerius to admire the intricate embroidery of swirling gold within gold. The idea that this sight was not meant for most to see, such beauty up only so close, instilled an unexpected sense of honor within him, and he almost didn’t notice when the man shifted to sit between his parting knees.

  


The patterns drew him in. Not really patterns, but a story told in pictures, and from his position he could only see a tiny part of it, and he wanted to follow, wanted to see more and more, his fingers eagerly tracing the pictures.

 _You are neither a child nor an idiot, Valeri. Get yourself together. Look up._ He forced himself to do so, looked at that beautiful face, that smile full of promises, and felt strange hands sneak up between his robes, still keeping a thin layer of fabric between skins. His chemise was the finest white muslin, barely more than a summer morning's fog over the meadows, and yet it felt like a iron fence between him and his new lover.

The strange man sat back, admiring the scene before him in the flickering light. A shiver ran down the consul’s spine under the scrutinizing gaze, growing anticipation quietly bubbling under the surface. Those same, blackened hands came to wrap around bare ankles, skin against blissful skin, wandering up to the back of parted knees, and up further still to thighs, eliciting the slightest of gasps. Again, the warm body before his grew near, the man looming, his back arching up to meet him. Firm hands sat the splayed form of the consul close to his lap, chemise hitched up to thighs, a look of warm affection beaming down at him. Once settled, the beautiful figure that sat between his legs once again took his hands, this time taking them to the binding of his own robe, an encouraging look on his face.

Valerius wasn't shy. Hadn't ever been, but _presenting_ himself like this was new to him. He moved slowly, fluidly, his muscles tense like his concubines did when they danced for him, fingers fluttering over the ties that bound the being. A weird prickling where he touched and pulled, the air before a bout of bad weather, clinging to him like drops of oil, and as the fabric slowly gave way, he held his breath. _Not human_. Somewhere, deep in the stem of his brain, the young consul understood that, and it was only thanks to his pride and vanity that he continued instead of grabbing his blankets and hiding under them, hoping the creature to spare him.

Not to say the form above him did not _appear_ to be human. The robe that slipped away revealed a toned and muscled man in his prime, broad shoulders with a slender waist, long limbs and an eerily ethereal nature to his movements. Even more noticeable was the pulsating desire, shadowed red in the lamplight, one that Valerius knew was very much meant for him.

Again came a smile that grew, turned into something he read as a menacingly satisfied grin. A look that promised imminent destruction, a Lucio-look, but then maybe it was just shadows and paranoia.

Valerius felt a little silly for his thoughts, immaculate virgin afraid of the first night with another.

He had never been _under_ a man, and he had the need to tell him. Didn't dare. It would only widen that grin, and the stranger seemed to be one of the people who saw virgin holes as a triumph.

He barely dared to move by now, even as the naked creature came even closer, beautiful predator stalking prey. Didn’t dare to breathe. Even as the heated skin brushed against him, pressing against the thin cloth, he hesitated. _I want this. Why am I…?_ He felt the hand running up the his back, dragging him closer, the hot pulse of the stranger’s need hard against his leg.

For a moment, he could have sworn there was a blood red glint in the man’s eyes, but a little move let grey hair fell like a curtain, hiding whatever might have been there. The young consul found his knees hitched up over the other’s thighs, and the thrill at the idea of welcoming the man even closer made a shiver run down his spine. With a caress of his cheek and a roll of hips, the stranger’s wolvish smile gave away to affection once more. Fingers pressed into his lower back, gently forcing him into the right angle, firmness sat just aligned...

The being above was set to claim him.

“Are you ready, Valerius?”

"...no?" A little irritation in his whisper. What kind of holes was the stranger used to?

When Valerius lay with a man, they came prepared oiled up and smooth, and still he refused to just plunge into them, first easing them up enough to make sure they enjoyed themselves, and it was the same with women. He saw little sense in scooping from a well that was not overflowing. Maybe the being was just way more thirsty than he had ever been.

The form above him softened, curling around him protectively, hands running up to his shoulder blades. Even the lamplight appeared to brighten, just subtly.

After a moment, a new, patient smile, and the stranger reached over to the bedside, fetching his wine glass for him, he accepted it absently. A tender hand brushed hair from his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I... be gentle. And there's a vial of oil over there...“ A vague nod into the direction, and heat rising in his cheeks.

For a brief moment, Valerius’ face fell as the man reached over for the vial. He took a generous sip of his wine. Another. Ignored the slick sounds of oil meeting skin, eyes avoiding the scene and the tender look he was getting from the man before him. Placed the glass aside. A moment later, and a greased hand, still tipped in ink, came to grip his thigh. Finally, their gazes met, and in that moment, for all of the foreboding and creeping sensation of a coming storm, the being before Valerius looked very human. _Looked_. A pang in his gut held. The other brushed fingertips lightly down his abdomen, narrowly avoiding more sensitive parts.

“I’ll go as slow as you need.”

 

 _I trust you_ the young consul wanted to say, but couldn't bring himself to. Only nodded instead, and shuddered at the touches that followed as the strange being pressed gently in. Valerius tried to breathe, tight as a knot at the gallows, and watched the stranger with heavy-lidded eyes. A first moan as the second finger found its way. _So this is how it feels? How utterly strange._

He could tell his body liked it, noticed how his breathing changed, how a heavy pulse woke the snake in its nest of dark hair a little more, but Valerius still wasn't sure if he liked it _himself_.

Yet, the stranger was diligent, careful, but persistent. The fingers inside of him hooked upward and he clenched up, the new sensation dawning on him too quickly.

“Ah,” The ethereal form hit a wall inside him then, all tension.

“You have to _want me_ ,” a reassuring hand caressed his hip, “... don’t you want to be mine?” A playful smile framed by silver hair followed the question, the caress coming to run the length of the consul’s doubting firmness, fingertips still hooked inside of him.

" _I want you_ ." Valerius repeated, because he did, didn't he, trying to reassure himself at the same time, caught between excitement and an awkward half-stiffness he wasn't used to, and tried to focus on _relaxing_ , the one thing he was exceedingly bad at when it wasn't in the exactly right circumstances, and his thoughts wandered to the gardens of his family estate, lush greens and old fruit trees he so liked to take care of personally when he had the time, and that seemed to work better than any naughty thoughts.

The fingers slipped into him, hitting a bundle of nerves he was aware of _in theory_ , and his eyes became wide. "Oh..." he breathed.

“That’s it...” The entity reassured, one hand gently stroking the hesitant cock, the other delicately prodding onward, noting the consul’s tension slipping away.

After a few more moments of well placed pressure and restrained sighs, the man between Valerius’ legs again shifted, forcing his mind out of the gardens. Slick fingers slipped out of him, and he could feel the earlier presence weighing hot against him, dying to ease in.

“Valerius?”

He opened his eyes. Nodded and placed a careful hand on the stranger's chest. "Slowly. Very slowly." He allowed him to come a little closer, tip, pulsing against him. A long breath, and he thought of the elderberry tree in full bloom, little white clouds between green leaves.

Hands came up along his sides, finally taking up the chemise over his head, a veil lifting to reveal all of him to the stranger’s burning gaze. A hand on his lower back then. As their eyes met, and the tree was the last thing to touch his mind before the pulsating tip slid to sit just inside.

The stranger let out a long breath through his nose, smiling sweetly.

“This is your first time, isn’t it?”

"So?" Jaw clenched defiantly. He would not deny a truth.

Despite the tension held there, it did not carry below his waist, allowing the man to further ease in ever so slowly. The expected grin then appeared, predictably widening.

“I’m honored, my dear consul.”

"Don't be. It... _haaa_ bears no stigma for me to allow someone to do this. There were times when--," for a moment his eyelids fluttered. Those feelings were wholly unexpected, "--it was just the suitable thing for a young man of standing."

“Of course,” the stranger replied. Breath hitching as he felt the young consul’s residual tension hug him as they progressed. “You aren’t just any ‘young man of standing’, now, though.” The beautiful form pulled him in close, angling against that same cluster of nerves that caused another moan to escape his lips, very close now to the stranger’s own.

"An older lover to teach the _ars amatoria_. As it should be." Valerius closed his eyes, torn between the heat building inside him and the need to give a short history lesson about the topic. It was interesting, stimulating, but so was this, and he had made a deal, hadn't he?

With that, all movement ceased. Throbbing flesh stilled inside of him, and the young consul could only blink before eternally sooty fingers came to firmly grip his jaw, forcing him to _look_. Hunger emanated from the stranger in that moment, quickly passing once more into docile affection.

“Are you nervous?”

"It is a bit late for tha- _aah_!" A little movement impaled him, turning his answer into a moan. He clawed against the stranger's chest, leaving red marks, just out of surprise, not even to escape.

A slight laugh let out from the other, followed by a roll of the exquisite stranger’s hips. Sitting upright, he pulled the young consul up with him by the small of his back. Full flush on Valerius’ features grew as he could feel the force of the fullness inside him prop him up, haplessly fixed to the spot.

It didn't _hurt_ , not as such, but it felt so utterly _different_ from everything he was used to that he yelped, the surprised sound of a caught animal. He wasn't quite sure yet if this was pleasant, but weirdly proud of this achievement. The stranger was an impressive guy in every aspect, and this act of self-conquest was no little feat.

A satisfied low hum emitted from the stranger’s chest, teeth just showing through a dark grin. There was a point being made here, or a lesson taught, even if the consul still wasn’t sure about _what_.

It didn’t take long for the other’s hand to be teasing his cock again, fingertips running the length of it, and it was like his body remembering only now there was this thing in the front that could cause pleasant feelings too, briefly forgotten about all the things that were happening to its backside, and he bucked at the touch. Another moan that came somewhere from deep down in his groin, dark and feral and _uncontrolled_ , so very unlike him. He started moving like his concubines did, swaying hips and fluttering fingers, slow and luxurious. _Look at me. I'm beautiful, just for you. All I am is just for you_.

Valerius knew he was _pretending_ , but it seemed to _work_ , both for himself and the being.

 

Firm hands held him in place, fingertips caressing the tip and length of him, and the greying form looked at him admiringly with black eyes. Slowly, the tension inside of Valerius subsided, and in its place grew a _need_ , one that he was unaccustomed to. It was as if he was being hollowed out as the rocking of their hips began to move in time. Again, the faintest trace of red shone the dim lamplight, but in place of the foreboding that had filled him with such dread, _desire_ struck Valerius in its stead. Washed through him, filling him to the brim way before his lover could. _I am yours. I am nothing, a little speck of a dead fly in a history book, and I am yours_. It was the first time he felt truly _wanted_ , even if he was so very aware it would not last, and he reached out to drag the being closer, deeper into himself. _This is but a lie_ , he thought between two heavy breaths, and decided not to care for now, to stop worrying for a few precious moments, not to listen to the other voice in his head that told him _this is just lies and deceptions_ again and again. Managed long enough to come for a first time, dry and desperate, his mouth in a soundless scream as his body imploded like a dying star, only slowly reassembling itself to the steady rhythm of the being, the lover, the _god_ pounding into him, handling him with the ease one would a doll.

Still the golden laurels sat perfectly on his head, glimmering in the light as they moved. Hands had come to grip the long braid, holding it nearly taunt, and the back of a knee. Chin and posture angled perfectly for the stranger to drive ceaselessly into the writhing consul.

“My, Valerius,” the being inside of him began, not nearly as breathless as any mortal would have been given his pacing, “You learn so delightfully _quickly_.” And with a hard thrust, his lover yanked down on on his braid, pinning Valerius’ body between the force of his hair being pulled back and the way the force inside of him felt as if it wanted to spear him through his navel.

That little sentence, that little _praise_ , seemed to work better than anything else they had done, stuck to his mind and filled it up, drowning what worry remained under its weight, and the young consul just gave in, willingly taking the being inside, being all groans and throbbing pulse, an animal crawling out of him he never suspected to be in there. Momentarily, the oddest sensation of cold metal seemed to run along his body, chest and limbs, but it passed so quickly against the heat now so _close_ to his own, too quickly to make anything of it.

Dark laughter bubbled up from the deep of the stranger’s throat as he watched his little _virgin_. Valerius was helplessly impaled, hips still rocking as his body fully welcomed the foreign thing inside him. Kept on laughing, a reverberating staccato directly through the consul’s body until he pried his eyes open and fruitlessly tried an annoyed stare.

“Isn’t this just what you _wanted_?” the stranger teased, braid looped around a hand just enough to perfectly pull at the base of Valerius’ skull.

"All--," it took him effort to find words, to find a voice that able to be articulate enough for an actual sentence, "--I wanted was _sleep_..." He found himself chuckling breathlessly between his moans. Having to answer a question brought at least part of himself back, one that wasn't quite sure what the hell had happened here to get him into this situation.

Both of them laughed, even if the reasons seemed quite different, triumph and absurdity, with the stranger shifting his weight in his arms and laying him on his back. Their pacing slowed, braid still held firmly in hand. As their movements came to a halt, the laughter faded. The hand at his knee moved up to caress his cheek.

“You will after this,” and at that, Valerius was flipped over his blankets and onto his knees, hips dragged up, braid still held taunt. A quick pause was the only recourse he had before he could feel the girth inside him adjust deeply into a comfortable angle.

The young consul knew this was a way to treat lovers, even if it was one he never tread before. Slow and lazy and sensual, taking time to enjoy what was offered to him, taking in their delight as much as his own. He never was eager on making them feel ravaged and used, but he very well understood that this was what the stranger intended, and... _He will not stop before I'm utterly wasted, will he? Until I believe I am nothing, nothing without him, that I crave him more than anything_. A moment of clarity that took some of the lust away. He was not a servant, not a slave, no matter how beautiful his master was, no matter how good it felt to have him buried so deep inside. How could his body be so treacherous, drowning him pleasure, when he...

A hard moan let out of his throat, as the new angle allowed the stranger ever more access inside of him. Valerius was being undone, completely driven to his end. He might as well have been facing death, his first impression of the intruder holding true after all. Just as he attempted to look over his shoulder, his head was pushed down to the mattress, pounding inside of him sweeping up into another sweet near miss. The thought that the man would come that deeply vaguely disgusted him, but only to the effect that brought him closer to climax. Had the hapless consul the ability to look, he would see the shadows in the lamp light grow longer, stretching out along the wall. Braid beginning to unravel, errant locks obscured Valerius’ vision, blocking the horns that had replaced laurels in the dark.

Another thrust, running the full length of the being, was like the end of a long coming sentence. A warm body met his back, hair gripped to hold his ear to hot breath.

“To whom do you belong?”

"To Vesuvia," he answered, slightly irritated, before he started chuckling between his moans. Asking someone who was their _daddy_ was such a Lucio thing to do, even if it lacked the strange undertone that had been in the being's words, and it earned him some slaps on his back he barely registered as such. They were just adding to the overwhelming heat that was building in his intestines, leading him into an unavoidable fate.

His nerves were worked to a fever pitch, a firm hand gripping his cock as an anchor. Another deep and throaty laugh sounded from behind him, laughter and breath at his neck fall too controlled to come from someone still pumping drastically enough to catch and hold the consul in a passing moment of blissful weakness; his eyes rolled back in his head.

"And so you will," the response was blithe, amused, winning the most affection from the being that Valerius had encountered yet. A soft kiss to the back of his exposed neck, a hard thrust just sweet enough, and the creature's voice seemed to find an opening in his awareness and filled in.

 

***

 

“Master?” The voice was silent, careful, and a warm hand touched his shoulder, unwilling to annoy him. He stretched. Yawned. Asked for the time, and some coffee, because it had to be morning, after a short night with strange dreams, and noticed that he felt a little odd. It was a while since he felt like this. _Well-rested_. How utterly strange.

It was well past noon, and the servants had been worried, at least she had claimed. He had slept like a dead man when they looked for him at the usual time, just because she woke up with a sense of foreboding. Valerius blinked. Ah, yes, her, the girl from the evening. “But you slept well?”

“Very well, master.”

“Did you dream?”

“Not that I remember, no.” She shook her head.

“Hrm.”  


***  


"Thank you for your kind counseling," the note said, dark ink on expensive cream paper, "I have not slept like this in ages. I will inform others in need about your expert skills. V."

It was a big basket filled with wine and fruit Asra otherwise would never have thought of affording himself. Business was decent, but not lucrative enough for _fancy_ things like these.

Although he had plenty of misgivings about his guest that night, the magician was at least satisfied with the outcome. It was nice to get something positive from _this kind of people_ for once.

 

 


	6. Bath (Lucio/Valerius)

The party was clamorous, glass of red wine shattering against white marble to uproarious shrill laughter. The entire palace was alive, a writhing mess of bodies full of food and drink. It seemed to stretch on, a manic frenzy in some rooms, lethargic and eerily dancing in others, strange high buzzing set against low thrumming drums.

It had all been far too much for Valerius, who had fled to the quiet of a cavernous washroom. At least, his first assumption had been refuge, but all too easily he had wandered straight into a small gaggle of dispersing giggling femmes. Too easily, had Lucio urged him toward the largest of several ornate baths that lined the softly lit room, series of fountains draining into them and providing a semblance of privacy. Too easily had a half dressed Lucio shot off a grin while refilling Valerius’ glass with his favorite red wine. Too easy did a careless arm throw itself around the consul’s shoulders, and before he could place it, the ount was leaning affectionately onto him while recounting some crass joke. The both of them sat at the edge of a pool, brushing through a lock of stray hair to fall from Valerius’ braid. Just as he could see the consul’s attention begin to fade, Lucio perceptively held up the bottle again cocky and questioningly.

Valerius nodded grimly. This wasn't the first time, and it would go down way less painful if he wasn't sober. _Story of my life. Cursed fate_.

The count was a horrible tomcat, begging for pets and attention until he had it, then losing interest quickly, and the consul was willing to bet on it being the same on this occasion. "Am I not keeping you from your guests, Your Excellency?"

The arm about his shoulders gave him a chummy shake, the count grinning through a scoff that thinly covered a nervous laugh.

“They don’t _deserve_ my presence,” Lucio explained with the bottle still in the other hand.

He must have annoyed the countess.

“Besides, I never get to see _you_ , Val,” he asserted with a poke into the man’s shoulder, “We never hang out,” Lucio muttered, as if the topic suddenly mattered very much and he had never before realized it, getting lost in Valerius’ braid.

 _Hang out_ . So it was one of _those_ evenings, with the count getting sentimental sooner than later. Last time it ended with him crying that his mother never loved him and he deserved better, and he had forced the consul at knifepoint to tell him that he was a really good kid and yes, of course deserved better, and that everybody loved him.

 

 

Valerius wasn't a man to wish death upon anybody, especially not his superiors, but Lucio sometimes made it hard to stay that way. He gingerly petted the man's good arm. "You are a very busy man, Your Excellency. Please do not worry about me."

“Pppppppsh”, Lucio scoffed, swatting away his pat, only to fold his grasp around the onsul’s wrist, coming to grasp his hand. Lucio turned to face him.

“I’m not _worried_ about you, Val, I just never see you.” Wide eyes, glacial ice in a sea of growing blood, regarded him fully, and for a moment he actually did see someone outside of himself.

Of course, the count was obviously inebriated, but still very lucid, and strangely… empathetic?

“How are you doing, Val? How’s consuling?”

Although still somewhat pompous, Lucio sounded somehow earnest. Whatever mix of substances the ill man had found was doing him wonders.

Had he not known the man, Valerius might have found him _attractive_ in this light, in this moment. That happened now and then and usually lasted exactly until the count opened his mouth. It would have been impolite to tell him how much his lifestyle, his constant amusement for himself and the masses, _panem et circenses_ , had ruined the budget, and that his wife's luxurious lifestyle wasn't helping either, but it might feel nice for a few moments before the inevitable punishment.

"One makes do, Your Excellency. Times are delicate and difficult, but when aren't they?" A nervous sip of wine.

An odd look passed over Lucio’s face at his words, not odd for such a usually done up face as the count’s, but odd for the man of his character. It wasn’t _upset_ , as much as it was confusion. His hands, however, had a mind of their own. Both his remaining hand and garish prosthetic had returned to caressing Valerius’ length of braid, and it was a moment too late for him to realize the count had undone the tie at the end keeping it in order.

“Well, of course they’re hard. Everyone is sad all of the time. That’s why we’re _here_ .” With that, Lucio toasted the bottle to no one, taking a swig before unceremoniously passing it to the consul, before adding “What do you use on your hair, it’s so _soft_.”

The careful ‘d _elicate’_ seemed to have missed the landing.

 

 

He briefly mused to answer his question, to tell him about egg yolks and oils and warm towels, but decided against it. Filled his glass again.

"I would not say _sad_ , Your Excellency. _Desperate_ , and scared, that's why they are so very willing to follow your path of debauchery." A nervous twitch of his eye as he realized what an honest word he just used.

Lucio didn’t seem phased however, hands and eyes still focused intently on running the slowly unraveling braid through his hands.

“ _Debauchery?_ This isn’t _debauchery_ ,” he shook his head, before gesturing around them, “I can give you debauchery. I’m just keeping the mood up...” The count began to mutter to himself, “... not my fault everybody dies, that’s just how it is, and besides it’s not like I’m not trying to fix it...” and then, he looked up at the consul, mood brighter again. Somehow.

“See? This is why you’re going to age so quickly Val, you keep dwelling on the negative,” Leaning in, he lightly tapped the man’s cheekbone, “Keep doing that and you end up as wrinkled and dusty as Vlastomil.”

With that thought, the count shuddered, before tilting his head to consider the man beside him, “You’re too _pretty_ for that, Val.”

The consul found himself blushing, much to his irritation, and at a loss of words for a few moments. "Too much wine, and not enough worms, Your Excellency. I will never reach his age or lifestyle, and I doubt it is a bad thing."

“And at this rate, none of us will.”

Lucio smiled to himself at that, unfittingly sage like, before more characteristically holding up the bottle for yet another toast. This time, he waited for Valerius to raise his glass.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Maybe it's better to die in full bloom than to wither away with age and time. If we cannot have eternity, let us be remembered as the beautiful creatures that tries not to fear the inevitable, even if it was mainly because it was better than wrinkles. To you, Count _Lucio_."

The name lingered on his lips. One of the rare times he called the man in power by it, and it felt oddly intimate.

Instead of tipping his glass, Lucio linked them arm in golden arm, glass and bottle. Something neither had done in years, or ever, let alone with one another. Despite the cheeky grin that followed, Valerius wouldn’t be able to miss the sincere admiring gratitude that settled in the back of the bloodshot gaze.

His other hand remained entwined in hair still crimped from braiding.

“Better to burn out than fade away, amiright?”

Valerius thought of his gardens, of his plans to spend his time as an old man there, peacefully tending the plants while some young one came for advice now and then. Sighed. _No one will be there to come and ask anything but about my failure in the time of need._

"Better to choose your own path now and then." The metal felt cold through the fabric of his clothes.

The count didn’t wait long after to down a long swig from the bottle, relaxing back on the golden arm afterward. His mood had dropped again, but in place of his usual obnoxious ire, he was sullen.

“What would _you_ choose, Val?”

"I never dared to think about that, Your Excellency." That was a white lie. Of course he had mused about how life would be if he had free reign, but it never included Lucio, at least not alive, and being honest wasn't very wise now. "Would you choose another path?  Or just one different road that changed so much?"

With a strange longing he looked at the warm hand that had been in his hair just moments ago. Maybe he should stop drinking whatever it was Lucio served, but them...

“Well, think about it.”

Turning to face him again, the count looked at him imploringly. “I dare you.” In spite of the look in his eyes and sullen posture, a familiar smirk crept across his face.

"You _dare_ me. Aren't we a bit too old for this, Your Excellency?" _No. Don't look at me like that. That look is reserved for prey, and that's not the category I belong to_. A slight worry flooded through the consul's bones, dulled by alcohol and godsknewwhat. "Whatever might come out would bore you."

“You were the one saying you wouldn’t dare, well, I do,” Lucio explained as if it were clear as day, gesturing with a glimmering hand to his chest. Then shrugged. Absently, the other hand found its way back into Valerius’ hair. “How would you know you if we never see each other?” The attempt to be flippant ended sounding snottily sincere.

"Because you once kindly told me I was barely above a houseplant both in looks and in intellect and only good for decoration, Your Excellency. You were having a particularly honest day." A thin smile veiling the distaste this memory brought. "But you sure have more important things to keep in mind than such trivia."

Compared to what he said and did to others that day, Lucio had indeed been complimenting him, and Valerius tried his best not to care about words carelessly said under whatever influence the count had been under then.

“Hm.” Lucio held up a finger to protest, but paused. “No, yeah, I remember that day,” A scoff. “So what? That was a bad day. We all have bad days, and I have less left than you do. This is a good day. We’re having a good time.” The count’s tone was defensive, but not aggressive, almost reasoning to himself. “How about this,” He started animatedly, tapping Valerius’ arm excitedly, “I give you permission to hit me if I do it again, huh? Just not on the nose cause then I’llfuckingkillyou, but anywhere else, fair game. Okay?”

"I may accept if you give it to me in writing." It was a good nose, admittedly. "So which path shall we explore, mh? One where I never met you?“

“If that’s the first thing that comes to mind, sure! Why not?” Lucio shrugged, leaning back again. “Say I wasn’t count, we never met. What would _Valerius_ do?” Name over enunciated, not entirely mocking, but far more dramatic than warranted.

 

 

"Since still no soul was found to take over the vacancy on Vesuvia's throne since the last ruler died, a young consul had to take reigns and laurels. Did so in a surprisingly thoughtful and forceful manner, keeping invading barbarians at bay." He allowed himself a little pointed, somehow teasing look at the parvenu. "Something like that, Your Excellency?“

A cheeky grin had slowly spread across the blond’s face as he spoke, a delighted blue twinkle carrying through the veined red of his eyes.

“Yeah,” a laugh. “ _Hot_ Val. What next?”

" _Hot?_ " A raised brow. "Even though you might like the horrible fate invaders suffer in the arena if they don't find the mercy of a death in battle. True to your spirit, the most interesting of them might be kept for a while to make themselves useful." He swallowed a mouthful of wine. Something about Lucio's gaze felt very inappropriate, and it wasn't as offputting as he thought it would be.

The count _giggled_ , a happy muffled chuckle, refreshing the glass of wine for Valerius.

“Oooh, useful _how_?”

"It depends on their skills and their face, as all things do. If they are lucky, someone may fancy them enough to _use_ them in a way they even enjoy." The consul drank. Leaned back to _lounge_ a bit more, long hair flowing over his shoulders. Soft and silky indeed.

“And?”

Lucio leaned in, still grinning with a jut of his chin, “What if you came across a fierce but fallen mercenary who _decimated_ your men, even lost an arm, but _refused_ to die?” Voice thick with romanticism, and a slight shift in weight, he leaned in further, just over Valerius. “What would you do with him?”

The count was close, and not being very subtle, but he kept his distance. Just enough.

"It would be a shame to waste him just like that, wouldn't it? And if there's no reason to kill him publicly to make a point to his men..." The consul noticed the heat that was flooding through him. _The wine. The atmosphere, where... yeah, those three over there are already way too close and way too in disarray to just be talking, and from the smells and sounds in the spiced air, they aren't the only ones_. He tried a deep breath.

Leaning further still, Lucio hovered, not touching the consul, but next to leaning on top of him.

“So? What would _his Excellency Valerius_ end up using him for?” He questioned low, teasingly, glint in his eye stronger than ever.

"It might be hard to tame him, but them, maybe some animals have to be kept just fierce enough to require a collar around their  throat to remind them of their status." A sudden realization about another _wild animal_ that Lucio himself kept, and the need for a mouth full of wine. Even the count himself gulped, with what couldn’t be ignored as a blush on his cheeks. They both seemed to notice their proximity in that moment, how he had placed a palm next to Valerius’ hip; how _easy_ it would be to close the space between them and--

Of course Lucio would take the opportunity, lips crashing onto the consul’s, a hand returning to entangle itself into the luxurious locks at the back of his head.

“Do it,” words came muffled into the kiss, golden hand gripping Valerius’ hip.

"Tsk." A little pull on the count's ear. "Have I allowed that?"

The risk he was taking gave an unexpected kick. This might mean the golden claw around his throat, but in this moment, it felt worth it.

With a slight hiss, Lucio withdrew, although as Valerius got a better look at his face, his grin was apparent.

“Nope.”

After a moment, the blond was practically twitching, chewing on his lip, arms back on either side of the consul’s hips, looking ready to launch at a moment’s notice. Under restraint never normally put on him, normally never allowed, he _ached_ , leaning in and out, almost unsure what to do with himself. The grin flickered as he realized how impatient this already made him.

"On your knees, _barbarian_. Hands behind your back, eyes closed." Valerius' voice had taken on a sharp tinge. He was scolding an unruly servant, somebody way below him, not even worth of raising the volume.

 

 

Lucio _scowled_ , and for a moment the consul assumed a quick end would come to their little scene, but to his surprise, the blond only let out a low growl and planted himself on his knees at the edge of the pool, slow, and obviously not accustomed to taking any direction. With a huff, he made a show of holding out his arms, smiling testily at the consul, before folding them neatly behind his back. Shooting the other a look that could maim, he let his eyes flutter shut.

The fact that he was fully erect helped nothing.

Valerius watched him, still quite unbelieving this had actually _worked_. It was only now he realized the state of undress the count was in, and the state of arousal.

He placed the tip of his index finger under the proud chin and lifted it up just a little higher. Let his lips brush over the blond's ear. “What do you think you are, mh? Nothing but a worthless little piece of flesh from a godsforsaken place, so very undeserving to even lie eyes onto the glory of this city..." The other hand traced down Lucio's chest, manicured nails leaving a red trail over the sternum. _I must be dreaming._

The count only grimaced, squirming on the spot, jerking his chin away petulantly. However, his eyes remained shut, arms still at his back. There was a retort there, on the back of his tongue, that was obvious, but it was bit back, just nearly.

It was the _tip_ of a a tongue that traced along his ear, no other touch but the warm moisture of that caress along the delicate skin. Hot breath, wine-stained, let the count shiver.

The shiver worked out another groan, and Lucio twitched, aroused, but annoyed, frustrated. Frustrated enough to mutter “Tell that to the families of your men I slaughtered, little worthless shit like me crushed them, and what does that make _you_?”

The slap on his cheek was gentle, loving even, but so very mortifying. "Your _master_ , creature, and you will not speak unless you were allowed to. Do you _understand_ that? Or was that too _hard_?"

Lucio huffed, a blush blending into the swat mark on his cheek. It took all of his energy and attention not to break, not to spring into action and knock Valerius on his ass, call the guards, strip him bare and lock him up for a few days in the town square for the insubordination. For being so good at it. For enjoying this far too much.

Then again, the count’s cock throbbed, somehow buoyed by the cruel words he’d never let anyone dare speak to him, at least, not before that moment. Had he not asked the man to behave as if they had never met? The absurdity of the switch excited him, curiosity of finally being the one without control driving him to stay put. It seemed he too was enjoying this far too much.

Unable to keep his eyes from a roll, even while shut, he finally managed to spit out a reply.

“Of course, _master_.”

Valerius wished to keep that moment for eternity, to have it engraved somewhere. The pain on Lucio's features was _exquisite_ , hating the situation he was in so much and yet getting so _hard_ by it. A curious glance to see if anyone had noticed them.

His manicured hand closed around the count's cock. Not rubbing, not stroking, just holding it like the handle of a sword.

"Of course, in your special case, murderer, beast, things would have to be public. Your disgrace for everyone to see. How you're unable to control your urges, how you will spill your seed, all put on display for those you loved destroying. Oh, how the mighty have fallen." A sweet little kiss was placed on Lucio's forehead, and the fingers moved, just a little, but so soft and warm.

An audible gasp fell from his lips, and the slightest change in pressure under Valerius’ fingertips saw the count swoon, head falling back just slightly, lips parted, knees weak for the briefest second. It wasn’t entirely clear if it was more the words or sensation that were getting to Lucio, but it was safe to assume that it was a heady mix of both that kept him pinned to the spot.

"Open your mouth, _beast_."

Valerius reached for the bottle and took a mouthful. Watched the horrible savage do his bidding, taking in this impossible, wonderful sight. _I can die happy now_.

He leaned forward to let the red drizzle into Lucio's open mouth, feeding him the poison of his own choice. Watched him swallow eagerly, thumb caressing the tip of the count's swollen cock as he did.

'Keep your mouth open now while I fill it up again. Don't drink. As long as you don't spill a drop, I will continue _this_." A first, practiced stroke. "Understand this?"

A soft whine was his reply, that turned into another moan as the count gave a nod, holding out his tongue, closed eyes rolling back in his head as he sat prostrate before Valerius.

It was _so easy_ , far too easy, to let go, to be the mindless void held captive to the consul’s whim, and Lucio’s back arched as he stayed put in wait.

If there was one thing in the world nobody would doubt the consul's competency in, it was pouring wine. The thin stream straight from the bottle hit the count's tongue and ran down into the hollow of his mouth. _What a nice way to shut him up. Finally. Do you know there was a form of torture like this, Lucy? Make them drink until they couldn't drink no more, and then some? Maybe they still do it down in your dungeons._

His left worked the swollen cock in a rhythmic pace. He would keep his promise, even if...

 _Let's give you a while, Lucy. Are you enjoying this? It seems like you are._ He took a swig from the bottle himself now, watching the shining surface of the liquid between the despairing lips.

"What are you saying, beast? This is too easy for you, the slayer of innocents, the scourge of the world? But of course, a weak creature like me can never dare to compare myself to your cruelty. How could I possibly? Remember: Spill a drop and I'll stop." He pinched Lucio's nose shut.

If it wasn’t for the maddeningly expert way the consul handled his cock, he would have sworn Val was actually trying to kill him.

His arms dropped, jostling him, but not enough to disturb the wine, hollowed out cheeks adjusting in time. An exasperated fist shook at his side, the only way his frustration shown along with the pointed furrow of his brow. Valerius could almost hear his protest clear through his body language.

 

 

Yet, Lucio didn’t spill. Hips gently writhed, face losing color, but all the firmer for it, completely in Valerius’ hands.

It was close to the last second that the consul allowed him to breathe again, desperate and deep and strangely liberating, even in the position he was in.

Head falling back, the count’s nostrils flared as he filled his lungs with air, mouth still gaping. He had to hold himself back from reaching out to the man, out of anger, or gratitude, or what, he wasn’t sure. Stimulation from the way the consul held him quickly consumed his panic, and as he desperately tried to keep his hips from buckling, another groan sounded from his chest.

"Would you like to know how many are watching us, little savage?" A gentle question close to his ear, and an equally gentle chuckle. For once, Valerius didn't sound bored.

The groan grew into a whine that got softer and softer before trailing away, a tentative brow raising.

"Oh, don't you worry, you have nothing to hide, oh mighty conqueror. How would they do anything but tremble before your power? Oh _no_. I forgot. That was long ago, before you decided to bow your knee in front of Vesuvia, as every barbarian will."

A bloodshot eye cracked open to try to catch some semblance of the world around him, but shut it after catching sight of the long cascading ombre. The blond’s knees weakened again, picturing the form of the usually reserved consul so… _emotional_ , wild and dominant above him. _Damn his beautiful symmetrical face and soft hair._

The hand around his cock was pumping by now, trying to soften the disgust on the count's features.

_No, no, little parvenu, don't start thinking now of all times, you survived so many years without. Very good, nice and hard and throbbing. You almost manage to interest me._

The count melted into his touch, now for certain coming to grip a leg. Not maybe out of anything save for the need to stay upright, a low moan building up again as the surface of the wine sloshed with a gargle. He still had no idea how many, if anyone, was watching them, and the idea that he was not allowed something drove him up the wall.

The long hair cascaded down across Lucio’s forearm and chest with Valerius’ effort. Before he could contain himself, the count fell over the edge, his entire form stiffened. Head jerking up, wine spilled everywhere with a moan as Valerius noted how he did the same in his hand.

 

 

 _Ewww_.

He smothered his first reaction to wipe his hand down on the closest surface. The messy part was what he disliked the most about the whole act, smelly and sticky and animalistic, and _of course_ the barbarian couldn't come gracefully or swallow like a good boy, instead making a mess everywhere. _Disgusting_. The red stains on the white of his clothes were visible even in the twilight in here and quickly killed any semblance of arousal that might have been building inside of him.

The entire facade had fallen. Lucio was count. Valerius, consul. The two making a scene. Slowly, the bloodshot eyes focused out of the bliss that had emptied his head. A deep blush overtook his features. Coughing, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, annoyed at how useless his legs felt in that moment.

"You wished to take a bath, Your Excellency. Allow me to help you." Valerius shifted into the role of polite, if distant underling within a heartbeat.

The plagued man trembled, latching onto an offered arm and coming up on his knees.

“Yeah. Thank you,” Tone curt, cheeks still stained, he slinked his way into the pool before them with a slosh.

The consul refused to run, even if it felt like the reasonable thing to do. _Don’t wake the predator’s attention. He’s tired now, and relaxed. If I am lucky for once, he will fall asleep and pretend it was all a dream._ Valerius slowly tiptoed backwards. Barely dared to breathe. Through some miracle, everybody in here had been to busy with their own matters to care much for them, or were too polite to look close, and he was thankful for it.

 

 


	7. Kitchen (F!Apprentice/ Muriel)

Finally, they were all gone. Time to close shop.

The girl stood aside the broomstick and took a deep breath, listening to the little noises the evening air carried in through the open window. It was  _ peaceful _ , and she felt her shoulders relax. Maybe she just wouldn’t open up tomorrow. Just sleep in, and see nobody. No smiles, no courtesies.

Almost as if on cue, a heavy knock sounded at the door, and she groaned. A distinctive shadow fell against the window in the fading daylight, and all too quickly she was at the door. It swung open, and that feeling again swept her up like the dust on her broom.

_ Muriel _ .

He stood before her, familiar uncomfortable look on his face, as was standard for his excursions throughout Vesuvia.

“Asra wanted me to tell you he won’t be back for a few days. Again.”

Once again she cursed her premonitions. Of course, her master would claim that she only needed to learn to read them and to trust them more, but getting vague ideas moments before something happened had proved more irritating than useful until now.

"Does he. Again. What a surprise." She rolled her eyes. "And he sends you all the way just to tell me that?" Not that she hadn't told Asra once or twice or a few times more in increasing volume to at least leave a note so she wouldn't have to check the morgue every second week to identify his sorry remains, but she  didn't like him sending around other people again either. "Thank you for telling me. I'm sorry you had to come here just for this." A moment's hesitation, then she added "Do you want to stay for dinner?" with a careful smile.

The question threw Muriel, who took a moment, or several, to stand uncomfortably in the doorway and consider it. For a second, it seemed it was going to say no and curtly walk away, but just as his mouth opened, his expression softened. Instead, he silently nodded, stepping into the shop. Dropping his hood, he looked around carefully, as if something was going to jump out at him.

"Nobody's here. I mean, you are here, and I am, and a few mice perhaps, but don't tell Asra about them. You know how he is, and they're so cute."

Every time she saw him she was amazed again how  _ tall  _ he was and how  _ wide _ , and he always tried to make himself small, less noticable. "Kitchen?"

_ Smile. You're nervous. Just great. This is no date, girl, and probably nothing at all. _

Muriel made a face at the mention of their mutual friend, but otherwise said nothing. They both stood in an awkward silence for several moments. He still looked uncomfortable, plagued by the odd sensation of a bitter nostalgia for the times he saw her there before. A very unsure expression crossed his face, and he secretly longed for them to be in bed again not sleeping, straight forward.

She waited for his answer for a little while, and decided then to just go ahead, if he followed or not. "You know, I was thinking about something with lentils. Do you..." She sighed. Why was she still trying to fill a silence she had longed for all day? It had been busy enough, customers talking too much and paying too little, and while she sat the pot on the stove and brought the fire in there back to life, she just kept her mouth shut, focusing on the task at hand.

Muriel took his time following her, eventually coming to watch her from beside the fire. He saw her begin to prep ingredients, before dropping off to see how the water was proceeding. Before another word could be said, he moved to continue the prep for her.

She let him. Added buckwheat and salt to the water and started dicing onions.

“Want something to drink? Water? Wine? I'll have some wine.“

“... water is fine.”

She nodded and filled their cups, colorful earthenware she traded years ago for a talisman. Leaned against his arm briefly as she served it, just to see his reaction.

Muriel nodded in thanks, before stopping his prep to look at the apprentice.

“Are you dizzy?”

_Alright then..._ She bit her lip. “I'm fine. Just a bit clumsy, it seems.“

Muriel looked at her wearily, suddenly nervous again. He looked as if he wanted to bring something up, but held off.

_ Oh, curse this. _

“ Say, Muriel, are you just here because  _ he  _ asked you, or are you here because...“ She felt the blush creep over her face. Smiled through it.  _ Don't wink at him suggestively now. Don't. _

Her blush even reached his face, and he looked away bashfully. He held out a hand, a small trinket in his palm.

“Inanna had your pendant. I didn’t know if you wanted it back.”

“Muriel...“ A mouthful of wine, and a second one. “I.. wanted to know if you want to continue that night, because I sure wouldn't mind, and I wanted to give you a reason to come along, because you don't like me very much, and I know you don't, and that way you could have, and... and I'm really not good at being subtle. Do you mind some spiciness, because I'm going to get tipsy now no matter your answer because this will haunt me, and I do like some spice?“ Another gulp of wine.

And one hard gulp from Muriel.

  
  


By this point, he had set down the knife, turning to look at her in full. The fire crackled, and it was enough to remind him of how she looked at him in the dark, smiling and moaning.

“I...” The deep voice weakly trailed off. Hadn’t he wanted things to be straight forward? Blush intensifying, he couldn’t meet her eye, finding her hair, dress, shoes the more fascinating.

“Yes,” a slow, tentative nod followed in affirmation, before finally meeting her gaze.

“So that's out of the way. Fine.“ A long exhale. “Want some wine now?“

Muriel nodded again, a sharp exhale, almost a laugh, her clue to his relief. He looked back to the food awkwardly, before turning back to find wine being offered. Instead, with a blush, he stepped in to hug the apprentice, still haplessing holding onto the wine.

She let him, sunk against his chest, just mildly protesting about food on the stove and the lack of wine in her stomach, but not trying to draw away in the slightest.  _ I think I missed you too. Maybe. A bit. Not that I'll admit that aloud. _

After several beats, in which she settled into his embrace despite everything, he finally let go, stepping away to continue with the prep. Continuing on as if nothing had happened. She was still holding the wine.

Drank it then, too, her cheeks flushed. Realized just in time that food on the stove needed actual attention and saved the buckwheat from getting burned, pulling the pot to the side and cursing the heat on her hands. Took a deep breath. _Onions. Right. Then some of the spices, then carrots, then broth, then he has a few minutes to fuck me bent over the kitchen table, then lentils and the rest of the veggies and a little vinegar, and-- gods, stop looking at me like that way, I can' work like this_ and she narrowly saved her fingers from her own knife.

Muriel’s hand closed around her own, knife skittering aside on the table. Gave her a concerned look.

“It's fine. Just lost in thoughts for a moment.“ A quick kiss on the cheek, and another thought she got lost in. _It would be so easy for him to force my arm on my back and I'd be so helpless and..._ A sweet little whimper as the scene played out in her head.

“You’re distracted,” a long pause, and she could swear a suggestion of a blush and smile flickered across his face, “Again.”

"It happens, right?" She guided his hand onto her waist, down to her hip. "No idea where that might come from." Heat rising from her middle into her head.  _ And I'm such a nice girl in here usually... _

With a solemn flush, he obliged by bringing giving the bone an affectionate squeeze. Muriel nodded, looking away shyly but placing his other hand into her hair, a long sigh leaving his nose.

"We could try kissing. If you like. That's not the worst start, usually," she suggested. "And you can keep your eyes closed."

Another snort and what could be considered an amused smile played over his face, before pulling her slowly to him in full, holding her close and burying his face into her hair. Muriel inhaled deeply, as if finally relaxed for the first time in years.

"That's not a no?" came a voice from somewhere down below. "Do you... I mean, do you know how?"

A long, just about comical, silence followed her question. His grip lessening the only response, along with a bashful look.

"Shall I show you? It's... maybe a bit weird at first, but then it's really nice!"

Muriel looked pained, and sighed.

“It’s not that I don’t know how, I’m just bad.”

"Hm." She was silent for a while, arms still around him. "Have you ever tried with someone who wasn't in a hurry? Because that can make a world of a difference."

Making a face, he shrugged. Hands rested on her waist, small in his sizable palms.

"Wanna?" She smiled up to him.

Tentatively, he gave a nod.

"Wanna sit down on the floor, cross-legged? Maybe here close to the stove, so it's warm and cozy?" She pointed, her voice breaking with excitement for a second.

Nodding, Muriel pulled away reluctantly, shifting a step over to the stove, and dropped down to sit. The shop’s resident proprietor sat before him, particularly buzzing with excitement. Lifting a brow, he looked at her expectantly, cautious.

She mused a moment.  _ This won't work without me breaking my neck. Hm _ .

"Wait a sec." A hustle and bustle of skirts as she edged closer, climbing into his lap, legs around his middle, almost eye to eye now. "This is better, don't you think?"

Muriel blushed, feeling the heat her presence brought to his lap, recalling the last night they spent together.

Letting his hands return to her hips, his hair falling into his face, and he let out a hum in affirmation.

"Now close your eyes, because people up close look really silly, and try to relax your lips. I know it's hard not to frown." She brushed away some of the coarse dark strands that hid him. 

The look in his eyes was one of affection, even trust, before he let his eyes slide shut.

_He's awfully pretty, and awfully sad._ She kept her eyes open, of course she did, she was the teacher after all, and interested in a lot of things. Her fingertips gently traced the outline of his full lips, barely touching them. _Surprisingly smooth. I wonder--_ Another naughty thought was blown away as his warm breath hit her skin. Had he just made the tiniest noise?

A sharp intake of breath from Muriel followed what she knew had to be a chill, for him anyway. He shifted her on his lap, probably to get some distance but inadvertently bringing her near. With another breath, he placed his hand on her lower back.

"May I?" she whispered.

“Yes.”

She leaned forward, placing her lips on his, gently pressing down, as innocent as she managed. _This is not so easy when you think about it, but then... why think right now?_ Another soft kiss, this time on his upper lip, then one on his lower, gently tugging at the delicate skin.

A very soft note sounded from his throat, vibrating down in his chest. Fingertips at her back pressed gently in the way his lips should have, nostrils flaring, body slowly falling in step.

She smiled against his lips, pressed down again and again, until the rosy tip of an inquisitive tongue joined in, slowly exploring the unknown surface. This was so different from her usual approach, when he'd already be buried deep inside her, and she noticed she was  _ enjoying  _ this nonetheless.

Gradually, his lips came to press back, gasping at the sensation of her tongue. Still somewhat awkward, but not nearly as stiff as could be. It was in no time that he returned the exchange, holding her just tight enough.

_Slow and sensual. You've been like this once too. Probably. There must have been first kisses, right? Even if I can't remember them. Maybe I just want this to count as a first kiss, sweet and innocent and with me coming to early again after a handjob, which makes me the guy in this_ and she giggled against his lips. Drew back a bit, just enough to speak.

"Shall we go a little further? Mouth open, just a little?"

A deep blush crossed his face, with a vexed pout. She thought he would say no, although his grip held solid, hair falling before his face.

He was embarrassed.

"Nodding is fine, as is shaking your head. Really."

He shot her another trusting gaze, softening slowly, before finally coming to nod.

“Don’t laugh.”

"I'm sorry. I just thought of something. Well, I thought of what a horrible person I am, and that I will not follow through with what--" She bit her lip. "--with what I feel like doing, because you deserve better than being with a horrible person."

Muriel looked crushed.

“What?”

Even through his hold, he could feel the growing tremor in his fingertips.

"Because I'd really like to jump you and ride you into oblivion. But we will do it your pace, because..." She  _ hugged  _ him, suddenly and tight and full of a weird feeling she hadn't expected.

She didn’t need to wait for him to nuzzle into her, with a sigh into her hair.

“Thank you for being honest,” His words were grumbled, with what she now would recognize as relief. “I… want that too.” He continued then, simply. They weren’t looking at each other, which might have made it easier to admit in the moment.

"Good," she sighed. Blinked. "Wait. Part one or part two? That is kind of important, you know?"

At that, he pulled out of the hug to brush his nose affectionately against hers before softly doing the same for their lips, too nervous to let her see his face for long. It came easier to him then, and a hand slid up her back to better hold her. Another nuzzle, and she’d notice how the lasting tension in him had started to melt; the touch starved man basked in her warmth.

“Two.”

"Okay."

_ Since when is this your thing? Is this your thing? Is innocence and gentleness the new naughty thing to do? So damn wet, it's just shameful, and he's... _

"Shall we do the thing we stopped a bit more? Until it feels right?"

A solemn nod answered her question, and a vaguely different air fell about the room. The muddled green eyes looked straight at her for once, large form having come to nearly encompass the woman in his lap. Carefully, he leaned in, pressing their lips together as they had before. With a breath, his eyes slid shut. After a beat, he gaped softly against her lips. Breath fell tentatively, his last trace of nerves.

Slow, dry kisses followed. Lips moving over lips, and she felt feverishly hot in his embrace,  _ It's the smell, maybe? His fragrance? Wood and green and smoke and a bit of sweat, not city, but somewhere outside, somewhere free, and I'm breathing like this again, like he's kissing the other lips, and it feels like it too... _

A gentle rumble accompanied the affection, some kind of contented sound, familiar and welcoming. Muriel let his hand raise between her shoulder blades, bringing her near. It was then he noted the way her skirts had gathered around her thighs.

He had seen her in worse states of dishevelment, of course he had, and yet, somehow this felt way more _intimate_? The last time, it was about _her_ , and that made everything easier. He was allowed to stay back, always the hermit, just helping to fill her emptiness without getting lost himself, fully expecting to be alone again after that, her being with _Asra_ of all people, and yet, here they were, with her lips and her smiles and her naked thighs. He felt her heat through the rough fabric of his pants. _So human._

Yet, it didn’t bother him, when her attention would have unsettled him at any other point in their lives. It wasn’t for a lack of shock as much as it was the lack of internal terror that surprised him. For all of the moments he looked on her and inwardly sighed, years ago, wondering what it might be like to be in the closed off little world that she and Asra had occupied for so long alone together, here she was. Wanting  _ him _ .  _ Completely.  _ The thought was enough for his blood to begin to rush to parts of him that wanted to oblige. Again, he begrudgingly regret his former disdain for her, tucking it away to make room for the softness she brought out in him that he had always shied away from.

With another gasping breath, he tentatively allowed their tongues to meet.

She had been like a kitten cleaning another's fur, tiny little licks over his lips, and she hesitated one shocked little moment. How unexpected.  _ Hello there.  _ Playfully, opened up for him, inviting him in.

It was strange to overthink things, that they should be so awkward and stilted when just a theory, and later come so naturally when finally in the moment. For the first time, Muriel let himself _relax,_ helpfully guided and coaxed by his new partner. Before he could place it, the two of them were going at it hungrily, as if they were half their ages never having been with another person before.

To be fair, Muriel hadn’t. Not like this.

But then, neither had she. Not like this, at least, not in her memory, but maybe she just was a _natural,_ or had learned to make even the most shy customers open up and feel comfortable, and yet... it felt _true_ , and she was a little surprised herself, even though breathless kisses left little room for thinking.

So little, it became apparent, that before long Muriel noticed exactly how they close they had melded together. It was so very different from the last time, when near, connected, but apart. Now, Muriel found her sat quite thoroughly on the solid bulge in his pants, surrounding him in a warmth that was barely kept away by a few layers of cloth.

He paused his lips, eyes flickering down momentarily before back up, sighing longingly with a caress down to her lower back.

"This isn't too bad, is it?" she murmured. _No, it's not. It's surprisingly nice, and I'm not even drunk._ There was a strange heat in her belly she couldn't fully blame on the longing little creature between her legs, and it irritated her. Another kiss, and another one, just because she had the need to taste him. Muriel, on the other hand, was all too happy to return the affection, lips no longer stilted as they had been before. Holding her tighter, when his hips buckled under the warmth on his lap, he blushed harder still, pulling away. It was oblivious he was still nervous, inwardly trying not to dwell on the past. The energy built up between them was palpable though, his body itching to continue.

“Are you sure?” He questioned again, looking as if the whole exchange could evaporate at any moment.

"Very much so," she said, way more serious than she had intended. Quickly added "If you want to," and a smile.  _ He feels likes calm places. _

Her smile spreading again to Muriel, he gave her an excited nod that proceeded a quiet ‘yes’. Fingertips eased their way back down to the more familiar skin of her legs. He moved carefully as he slid his hands up, under her skirts, rough hands encompassing thighs. Unable to meet her gaze, he stared steadily down into the fabric piled up into her lap instead.

_I've never touched his dick._ The thought was there, feverishly hot, and burned even more when she realized she hadn't even _seen_ it, not more than an idea in cloth and shadow. _Blindfolded on an unknown path. How strange and... exciting._

She hurried to get out of the way what little separated them - _oh my, what a mess I am_ \- and-- no. Brushed her fingers gently over a velvet head. Waited for _him_.

A sweet, low hum emitted from his chest. Eyes suddenly focused intently on her face before he realized she had paused for him. The shock of it read briefly before Muriel proceeded to melt into her touch, hands wandering farther still. They stopped at her hips, delicately guiding her down. Just as they met, he gasped, somehow still bashful even as he sat just inside of her, blushing as deeply as ever.

Her eyes grew a little wider with every inch that entered. It was smooth enough, and slick, and _close your eyes, you look like an idiot holy blazes that's a piece right there_ \-- She stifled a moan, somehow afraid to scare him away with loud noises. Focused on the heat that filled her and realized she still hadn't touched base. A sudden, heartfelt _need_ to climb that mountain, one way or the other.

By that point, Muriel was holding her closer and closer, moving to bury his face into her hair. Inhaling, he nuzzled her dearly, before humming another soft moan as he could feel her relax around him.

She started rocking her hips, slowly, carefully, trying to ease him in. Her breath was slow, focused, like the wind gently tearing at their clothes.  _ The wind? _

Something around them was changing, a subtle shift in the world that flowed around them like water around smooth stones.

Muriel shivered, hands flexing protectively across her thighs.

“What is that?”

"Home," was her absent minded answer. She had reached the base, delightfully, slightly painfully  _ full _ , and the fragrance the air carried was just that, roads and open skies and green and earth warm and wet from recent rain. "Will you guide me? Show me your rhythm?" Gently Muriel's hand was dragged up her side to rest on her hip, so small and fragile under his large palm.

To his worry, she wasn't worried at all, face filled with radiance and blush, while he felt earth under him, and grass, and a summer sky above them. Saw it then, too, wide and blue above them, and understood this, too, was  _ her _ , some magician thing that Asra never could explain right.

Hardening inside of her at the mention, Muriel tentatively nodded. Gripping gently, he rocked upward again twice in a steady motion, noting her tense up. Instantly, he froze again.

“Are you okay? Should I stop?”

Concern marred the longing on his face, eyes shining, so afraid to hurt her and ruin such a beautiful atmosphere.

"Heavens no, don't stop, please don't stop..." and she pulled herself down deep again. 

F _ uck me, little bear, fuck me like you need it. _

Her fingertips dancing over his features trying to brush away his worries like the dark strands of hair now, their playfulness a harsh difference from the pulsing, hungry heat that so eagerly swallowed him.

Her enthusiasm successfully inspired him, finally leading with a several broad thrusts to meet her, grunting with excitement that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before that point. Just after, he fell into a steady rhythm guiding her hips, continuing to groan the most relieved sigh.

HIs size continued to surprise her with every thrust. The way from taking him all in and being proud of it to becoming a mindless mess just wanting to be filled was surprisingly fast. Usually, it took more time, but then, her mind had been busy with all the things he could do to her since that rainy night, making it the longest foreplay she ever experienced. Still, she would have coped with that, somehow. It was just sex, she knew about that, and it was fun and nice and a good cock was a good thing, but the way he  _ watched  _ her, how his eyes took her in, made her even weaker than everything else he was doing.  _ What has happened to you, bear? Where's your disgust gone? _

  
  


If anything, the look he gave her was  _ tender _ , as was the hand that came up to cup her cheek as the other gripped her hip tighter. It was  _ loving _ , even as he went drove into her harder and harder still. With every thrust, finally, for the first time, he no longer seemed a breakable creature.

_ Oh my. Oh my oh my oh my. Crap. I mean, he's... No. Nonono. This is normal, this is just a boy enjoying himself and his minds playing tricks on, oh fuck, this is in deep. _

She moaned, a long, heartfelt sound that filled the empty skies above them, and her nails helplessly dug into muscle. How could he, of all people, suddenly be a viable option? Pretty much all of Vesuvia, all of the _world_ had felt more probable than him, all doors more open than the one he... She started giggling between her sighs, suddenly-- not understanding, but just accepting. It somehow made sense why he was able to come here so easily, just like that, paths where others did not dare to tread, and she wasn't even sure if she really invited him in. _Have I? Can I even do that?_ She must have, in more ways than one, both of Muriel’s hands suddenly shifting to hold her backside as the sensation of their closeness overcame him, tenderness stepping aside to a building urgency.

_He won't last long, because it's been fucking ages and ouch yes ouch too deep_ and she was strangely alright with that, as egotistical as she sometimes could be, because he deserved a nice thing or two.

Muriel’s breath fell in hard gasps between them, while green eyes blinked desperately in a lustful daze.

“I... I...” It was apparent he desired to ask her something, but unwilling to slow his pace. He was going to come, that was definite. However, as he continued to push inside of her as far as possible, it dawned on her what he was trying to ask.

He was going to come, but  _ where _ ?

"It's okay," she managed, and then added something she only read in the dirty novels that were there for her in lonely nights, "Come inside of me  _ gods fill me up please do _ \--" and her own dirty words pushed her over the edge, spasming around him and biting into his shoulder to muffle her scream.

It was enough for him to follow close behind, as deep as he could fit, with a shiver from the form cradling her, she could  _ feel  _ him spill into her, the slightest added pressure where there could be no more, chasing to a blissful calm.

" _ Fu-uck... _ " she groaned, rather unceremoniously, something that never happened during the sweet and tender lovemaking the men she remembered - well. Asra, really - seemed to prefer. This wasn't artful and delicate, but something that came out like a breath held too long, and she felt how the world imploded around them. Took them back to the kitchen floor, and back to a stove where Salamander merrily danced in a stove, not caring for the slightly burnt smell.

"Just a..." She stumbled up, unwilling and with wobbly knees, trying to save them from fiery death.

He was still hazy, overcome in more ways than one, but was at least quick to cover his shame and scoot away. The blissed out daze only lasted so long, leaving Muriel wide-eyed, bereft, almost as if about to flee.

“Are you... okay?”

"No, no, I mean yes, but, ah! _Hothothot!_ " Wise enough not to burn her fingers, using her skirts to get the hot pot from the stove, but a mess otherwise, cheeks red and _him_ running down her thighs, and still smiling madly.

He stood, taking the steaming pot from her hands without gloves. Blushing deeply, he tried not to notice the way she shifted weight.

Absently, he placed it down on a rag to cool, before turning back to her. She was still smiling at him, and it was enough to calm his rising nerves.

"Hug?"

Almost she didn't wait for his decision, but stopped midway, arms already spread.

With a relieved sigh, he met her midway, scooping her up in his arms. Holding her tightly, he buried his face back into her hair, breathing her in.

"Can you... stay?" she whispered against his chest. "Just for a while. Until you don't wanna stay no more."

She could feel the nod more than see it, arms holding her firm.

  
  


He tried to ignore of thought of Asra’s disappointed expression upon finding them out.

"I mean, my bed is not very wide, but we'll make do. If you wanna stay that long, of course."

“Yes,” A nod, and then another, and he was nodding continuously. Pulling away to look to her face, he nodded. Brows upturned, he finally looked far less worried, if not absolutely lost in her gaze.

_Her_ bed, not _the_ , not _theirs_. _Theirs_ would have been worst of all.

"You were hungry, A bit, at least. Are you still? Because you may need your strength later on." The blush on her cheeks refused to lighten, so utterly surprised by how much she enjoyed being a bit _naughty_ with someone who didn't treat it as casual conversation.

It matched his, along with the small smile that grew across his lips.

Again, a nod, and for the first time, his usual bout of shyness faded.

"Wanna help me fix this?" she grinned, without much hope to get dinner finished this time.

 

 


	8. Masquerade (Muriel/AFAB Asra)

It was a happy end, wasn't it? 

Nadi and the apprentice, and Asra finally alone, again, finally letting go. Muriel fighting back the dark thought that so unavoidably came.

_ How long have you known, Asra? How long have your wise eyes peeked into my heart and decided not to see, because yours was too full of the one you decided you loved more than the worlds? Maybe it would have been easier had you just refused. Then I could have left. Finally left. _

The slender arms around his waist were warm, covered only by the thinnest leather, the magician shifting from friend to lover with ease, a dreamlike presence in ethereal robes.

_ There are still so many things to do. Why now, in the inbetween? You fear not all of us will come back, is that it? Lost loves, lost lives. It comes so easy. _

"Wait." Muriel said.

The magician’s hold around his waist lessened, and a curious glance made it way to a bear mask hiding concerned features.

“What? What is it?” Asra asked casually. Idly, hands continued to follow down to hold Muriel’s own.

"I'll keep that on. The mask."

They had found it in one of the rooms, one filled with pyramids over pyramids of glasses filled with various drinks, left behind by one of the guests as they took flight. Asra had pointed to it and remarked something about it being a perfect fit for him, while Muriel found himself drawn to it. Had walked over, put it on, and shyly gazed at his own reflection in the mirrored walls. Without his own face, the one he knew so well and liked so little, everything became better. It wasn't a stranger in the reflecting surface, but it was someone Muriel could  _ stand _ , someone who was strong and tall and a little less  _ him _ .

While they wandered through an half-empty palace, he noticed how his stride changed, became less careful, more a predator on the prowl than prey trying to hide from trouble. For the first time, he truly noticed that his steel collar was gone.

“Do you mind it?” Asra questioned, fingertips tapping gently against Muriel’s collarbone, bodies pressed together close in the corner they had tucked away into, despite the fact that they were alone in the room. It had been full of people, drinks still sat on tables, lanterns still lit, but since cleared in the earlier commotion. 

  
  


"Mind  _ what _ ?" The bear's hand closed around Asra's jaw, gently turning his head to the side so he could place a kiss on the string of muscle there. Somehow, Muriel felt no need to repeat the clumsy little exercise in front of the audience of Asra's, well, probably  _ their _ , friends.

_ I can't do this, Asra. Dreamed about being near you, somehow, but don't know if this is the way I-- _

The little sigh that escaped the magician's lips broke that path of thought. Why was it so easy all of a sudden, like his friend had wanted this all along?

_ Because this is how he gives affection. Physical, and fleeting, as long as it distracts him from himself. So many things you do for a little distraction. Not with me. I’ve known you for too long. _

“I…” Asra trailed off, the continued edge in his oldest friend catching him off guard. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a heady mix of arousal nearly drowning out the lingering concern that sat along with it. Eyes slid shut momentarily, before he doubled back, glance dodging up to the inscrutable mask.

“ Do you mind…  _ this _ ?”  _ Us. _

The magician emphasized his point with a tender caress to the inside of Muriel’s wrist.

He felt the fingers of the sizable hand close around his jaw tighter at the touch. In here, the dark hollows of the mask's eyes were just that, his oldest friend lost somewhere beneath.

_ Once again, you made that decision for us, and I can feel you're already more than ready to go. Silken skirts. Ha. A nobleman now, and yet, just a man. _

The bear dragged him close, let him feel how little of a hindrance his sinewy body was, not more than a child would have been.

For the most part, for the entirety of the night so far, through the mystery and spell casting and distractions, the magician had taken the lead. Muriel had always been content to remain in the background, a constant shadow, the wall of a man that Asra had leaned on. 

Then, after that scene before their friends, there had been a  _ shift _ . One that Asra hadn’t foreseen, a path he couldn’t quite glimpse down, one that had lead them to that room they were currently in. Pulled tightly against the bear, the magician could barely contain the shiver that ran through him. He had expected a timid Muriel, cautious and needing reassurance, but had found himself all but pinned by a force of nature. Gloved hands snaked back up the broad chest.

“Muriel?”

_ Doubt? Now? That's unusual. _

"...?" He just stopped. Let his friend down. Did not take a step back for once, like the masked allowed him to do so.

“We don’t have to do this…”

Voice hushed in the darkened room, it was still clear to see that the magician’s head was turned away. ‘Rejection’ as a concept was not one Asra had even taken to well, but over the past few years, he had made several strides. This was one of them.

"Do  _ you  _ want to do this?"  _ You are scared of me, aren't you? Because you never saw me for who I am. Not in the last years. _

At that, violet eyes snapped back to the dark void sat just behind Muriel’s mask. In what little light there was in the dark room, they shone determined.

“ _ Yes _ .”

"Hrm."

Two steps, and the bear was behind him, against him, furs and skin against silk. Calloused fingers traced the form barely hidden under the sheer fabric. It wasn't the touch of a friend, but a touch that offered, that expected, because there was little use in resisting anyway. The magician’s hands, so used to guiding, tried and failed to adjust Muriel’s grip. Instead, Asra could only steady himself against a nearby wall, sighing breathily as he leaned back into the presence behind him. 

Muriel barely had allowed him more touch than necessary before, and that didn't change now. He was the one touching, caressing, letting silken skirts glide over thighs, feeling his friend shudder against him at the touch of the fabric on his middle. He knew just too well how Asra sounded when he was getting into things. The boy lacked basic decency most of the time, especially when a body was new and exciting.

  
  


The series of gasps and sweet sighs that left his lips was proof enough, let alone how his back and hips had begun to arch. The white head of hair at Muriel’s chest pressed back against him, mussing up the slicked back style the magician had worn it in all night. One hand continued to find some sort of purchase, coming to lightly hold onto a strip of fur at Muriel’s waist.

It was nice not being seen, not having to look into those amethyst eyes clouding over with lust. To leave Asra alone, but yet be so very close to him, for once without the feeling of being watched, judged, even if it was with a loving eye.

_ I love you _ . Hand tickling the edge of the white curls down there under his belly. 

_ And yet, I never dreamed of this. _

Breath suddenly fell short, and the magician writhed under his touch. He dragged a palm down the broad arm holding him, down to the grip under his skirts, caressing the hand in a bid to  _ wait _ .

_ Too fast? I see. _

Muriel dragged him back against his chest, grip tight around his throat like his golden choker while still fulfilling his wish.

_ You aren't used to be the one who's getting used, are you? I've seen the ones you usually lie with, fragile like porcelain and little birds, barely there in the world, neither in body nor mind. Different. So different. _

A curt gasp was all that could fall from Asra’s mouth, surprise passing over his features as a concern hand rose to meet the one at his throat. Any concern quickly faded as a soft moan reverberated from his chest. Eyes rolling back, knees weak, caught between the restraint and caress, there was no mistaking his excitement, even though it still was so chaste.

"I will be too much for you."

Muriel could state that without even trying. He was a rider for a trained warhorse, not sleek stallion.

That threw Asra, who tried to doubletake in his current position and failed. He wanted to protest, to get his oldest friend to try anyway, but he still knew. Without far more time, relaxation, and way more lube, he was sure to hurt himself. Or ruin his gown. The thought of being back at Muriel’s cabin, splayed out before him, brought another shiver to Asra. Oh, how he suddenly wanted to be away, out of the palace, out of the layers of silk, naked and comfortable. The magician deflated slightly.

“Later?”

A shake of the head. Not later. Now. At least a short moment of relief.

_ It may be all we get. _

Asra withheld from asking if they could leave, instead deeply sighing an “I know”. He knew they couldn’t, not now, not with the chaos and Lucio obviously up to something.

He turned sharply around to face Muriel, fast enough to disrupt his grip. Arms flew around mountainous shoulders in a tight embrace.

“ I won’t let him take you away from me. I can’t lose you.”  _ Too _ .

The bear looked down, mask feral, alive in what little light there was here.

"It is not for you to decide when I go. Asra.  _ My  _ decision."

Muriel marveled at his own words, and how good they felt. They had been there for years, just waiting to be formed, to be spoken.

This broke the small magician, a sob shaking his form. Followed by another, and another. Faust reached out to him in that moment, concerned from her position prowling the the party. Reassuring her he was only sad, and nothing had actually happened, he leaned back into Muriel.

“I...”

He gulped.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

  
  


It sounded so childish, despite having also sat dwelling in his chest for as long. Too quickly, they were the same sad children living on the docks, huddled together for warmth and protection.

The lingering sensation between his legs reminded Asra that they were very much not those hapless children anymore. Confliction weighed him down, and he buried his face into Muriel’s chest.

"You've never been."

_And you'll never be. They come to you like moths to a flame and get burned sooner or later._ The bear put a heavy hand onto the delicate shoulder. The change in his friend's mood made him want to flee. It had been more than enough emotions for one day, and the sudden shift was close to the last drop.

“... because you were there for me,” Thought occurred to the magician perhaps for the first time, and he vaguely rolled his eyes at himself. He had not quite gotten the context, nor would he, really.

Falling back into an embrace, he spoke into the bear’s chest part of the way through the sentence. “Muriel, I am so sorry. I didn’t think you felt the same way. I’m an idiot.”

Looking back up to the stoic mask, Asra tried to catch a glimpse of Muriel’s emerald eyes in the dark.

“ _ I love you. _ ”

_ You don't even know what that is, Asra. _

  
  


For a moment, Muriel regretted the moment of weakness before. Had he not given into the kiss, he would not have fed his friend's newest folly, but it felt so very much like the end of the world that...

He sighed, long and heavy.  _ Words. I need words _ .

"Do you want  _ me _ ?" he said.  _ No. That came out wrong. Are you willing to share what I am, to share a life outside the city now and then, in silence and peace? _

“Yes...” The magician breathed, before frustratedly taking off his long masquerade gloves, peeling them off before tossing them to the ground. This left him in a state in between his usual self and the way he had dressed for the party, looking up pleadingly, hands running up and along the bear’s broad chest to his shoulders.

“Yes...” he repeated, taking Muriel’s sizable hand and leading it to his waist.

The bear looked down. Looked at the beautiful mess his best friend was, eyeliner smeared by little tears brought by overflowing emotion, luxurious fabric crinkled by moving in ways not intended by the tailor, skirts still hiked up, presenting slender legs and just an _idea_ of what was between them. Stared at his own hand on the bronze skin, and let his thumb brush over it, somehow still not quite sure he was awake. His friend shivered under his touch, filled to the brim with longing.

"Let us go home."

The magician only shook his head, fingertips already caressing the rough stubble under Muriel’s jaw.

“No,” a breath, and Asra pulled himself closer, nearly on his toes. “Let’s stay,” another breath and an arch of his back conveyed how serious the magician planned on taking their small moment of intimacy in the middle of all the chaos. 

"No?" the dark voice repeated. "Hrm."

It was strange to feel him like this. "No regrets?"  _ Not for me, and not for you. Not this time. Are you sure about this? _

A full, radiant smile broke out over Asra’s face, only further smudging his eye makeup as a few more tears, full of relief and want and joy, but most strikingly  _ love  _ made their way down his cheek.

“No regrets.”

"What do you  _ want  _ me to do?"

The question was an expected one, the way Muriel said it was not. A rough palm came to rest on a smooth thigh. Waited there patiently.

His oldest friend’s smile grew into a smirk, as it had when they were young and Asra was about to pull a particularly righteous trick to distract a cart merchant so Muriel could make off with some bread. Those moments always frozen in time, tension high, when their eyes met just before pulling off some questionable stunt. The young magician keen on not only securing their survival, but impressive Muriel in the process. Only this time, it was just them.  _ Only  _ them, but the anticipation between the two of them grew just the same.

Wordlessly, the magician lifted his knee slightly, guiding the hand higher still, under his leg, under the mess of silken skirts. Warmth met him there, waiting under one final layer of cloth.

The bear cupped the unexpected heated hill under the fabric, watched the pretty face down there as a blush came over it and his lips parted. _That... explains a lot. Why you never… oh well. The rest is magic, once again? Another trade?_ He gave it a gentle squeeze, just to see Asra's reaction, and started gathering that last layer of silk just enough to give him some space to move, but not enough for skin to meet skin.

When Asra swooned, for the most part it was indistinct. No part of him would react, except for the smallest lift of his brow. To most, he could come across as ‘mysterious’ at best, aloof at worst, keeping all of his cards as close to his chest as possible, figuratively and literally. It was amusing to see him try to keep up the veneer in reaction to Muriel’s actions, winning the bear the gentlest of brow lifts and shortest of sighs, eyes still set in some kind of determination only brought about before casting some powerful spell.

Heat and wetness soaking through silk under the bear's fingers as he gently let them dance between the magician's thighs.  _ Guess it won't come down to oil or spit that way. Good for you. _

A part of him was a little angry that Asra never told him, but then, he never _asked_ , and... _No. It wouldn't have changed anything._ Muriel knew how fragile bodies were, and how very messy on their inside anyway, and seeing them unravel their secrets willingly under his hands always was more enjoyable than forcing them open.

The magician’s expression remained unchanged, mostly. At least, that was what he told himself, despite the way fingernails had begun to dig into Muriel’s shoulder, and the slip of his eyelids that accompanied a long breath. It passed, despite the way his body reacted otherwise, as he proceeded to shoot his oldest friend the most playful smile. It was as if he dared him to continue, now in on some big secret only the two of them shared. With a breathless giggle, he lifted his leg up farther, hitching it up on Muriel’s to provide him more access.

And then, not only his leg was lifted, but his whole body.

For the bear, their foreplay had been going on for too many years, even if he never would have acted on it, or even wasted a thought on hoping he ever might. Asra felt him against his middle, big and hard, his loincloth a hindrance that would be out of the way with little work.

It was only then the magician truly reacted, the look of shock registering on his face overtaking any coy game he had been trying to play. A faint moan escaped Asra’s throat as he felt the bear throb against him, still clouded by a shroud of skirts, perfectly ruined by even the lift alone, lining ripping easily. The lift had been elegant, but caught him off guard, as both hands came to grasp at the back of Muriel’s neck for stability, bringing their faces close. The shock gave way to a proper swoon, the expression not one that Muriel could have ever recalled seeing on Asra before. It was  _ bashful _ .

“Kiss me?”

The bear grunted. A shake of the head beneath the mask.  _ That is not what this is about _ .

One arm around his waist held the magician up with ease, while the other made short work of the layers that separated them. Lined them up, and...

Muriel waited. A short tremble as he felt Asra's slick wetness at his own tip, and the urge to push deep into him and _take_ the beautiful man, but he left it to him to lower himself down. _See how far you can go, my love. Love..._ It amazed him how quick that word had changed from _friend_.

The look of utter betrayal that crossed the face of the magician upon the realization of what the bear of a man intended was comical. Although it quickly passed, that left the two at an impasse. It was true, every single movement Asra that made since they entered the room had begged Muriel to take him, yet neither had been able to anticipate the other’s movements. It was clear the magician had little intimate experience with anyone he couldn’t bend to his needs, leaving the unmovable one person in his life the only one he could not figure out.

“Hm,” Straightening himself in Muriel’s grip, not about to be defeated, he took a deep breath. Absently grabbing a handful of dark hair, the magician allowed his weight to slowly carry him down. Slowly, only at first, body coming to quickly allow the bear enter in full.

Pleasant surprise swept through him in a shiver, chest heaving as Muriel sat inside of him, rendering him speechless.

_ See, this isn't too bad. _

The bear's paws closed around Asra's hips, moving him up and down just for the tiniest increments. _Let him get used to it, bit by bit._ His huge heart felt strange in his chest. Was this what they called _happy_? What a wild idea, not existent in his world, at least not with others.

Watching the magician melt in real time was fascinating, every movement causing a cascade of emotion playing across his features. Gone was the cultivated facade of smug aloofness as Asra found himself at a complete lack of control. The experience was obviously new, the look of surprise fading into a desperate, admiring gaze and back again. A soft hum reverberated in his chest, punctuated by small gasps; fingers pressing and grasping up the bear’s neck and down to his shoulders, unsure of where to land, knees squeezing Muriel’s ribs as legs wrapped around his waist.

He had never been with anyone who made him feel this tiny, this  _ fragile _ , and as he was moved up and down in a steady pace, little more than a doll in the huge hands, he knew his friend, his  _ beloved _ , was smiling under his mask. It was strange to be with a lover like this, not playful, not delicate like those Asra usually chose, out of loneliness or need for beauty, but something that felt steady and real like the earth under his naked feet.

The gown had gathered entirely up around his thighs in a mess of layers that had spilled out behind him, and as the bear’s pacing proceeded, Asra’s hips began to buckle. He could feel the seam held tight against his leg rip progressively every time he shifted. It caused a sudden laugh to escape his lips, beaming at Muriel as his body relaxed and they grew even closer together, a small ripping noise to accompany it. The laugh was caught in the magician’s throat as the sensation that followed that swept up through his core, turning it into a moan. 

_ You fear that we'll die. That's why we are here. _ Muriel sped up slightly.  _ Trying to escape in a very human way instead of your usual one.  Will it mean less travels if I manage to take your mind off things? If that was all it took, you could have come to me earlier. _

Under his mask, he bit his lip. The magician felt  _ good  _ around him, hot and slick and welcoming.

Muriel watched the exact moment where Asra finally let go, eyes rolling back in his head, body melting into the movement. Hands gripped the bear’s biceps, white hair tickling the stubble under the mask as the magician’s head lolled momentarily. Blinking back up in a daze, Asra let out a breathless sigh.

“Please kiss me,” This time he sounded desperate, pleading. The same hands began to wander up to Muriel’s shoulders and neck, threatening to remove his mask.

"When you are done," he grunted and thrust harder.  _ Maybe _ . It was easy enough to catch the magician's needy hands in his own and bend them behind his back.

Despite the surprised moan Muriel received in response, the struggle the bear was met with was half-hearted, he could tell. Even pinned to his spot as he was, the magician’s playful smile returned under flushed cheeks. Just about wrangled, the quietest brush of magic rushed up about them, knocking the mask off of Muriel’s face as if Asra had flicked it off by hand.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Muriel froze for a moment. Sighed.

_ Teach you the hard way, Asra, because you will not follow any other. _

The hands around the slender waist pulled him down one more time, letting him take the full length, lifted him up and... just held him there, slick hole painfully empty. Would have set him aside if Asra was not clinging to him.

"Let go." Muriel's voice was calm.

Letting out an audible sigh, the magician eased up, all magic and grip relinquished.

"Why?"

_ Was this already too much to ask for? _

He sat him down. Fixed his loincloth and bowed to pick up the mask, or maybe to avert his eyes. "You don't have to prove you are _free_. Not to me."

“I” - Tone confident, it quickly fell away in a choked stall. Asra was dumbstruck, the dim glitter of lights across the darkened room the only way to see the mix of emotions playing out over his features. He was angry, but not, in fact ashamed, caught in the act of doing something he knew Muriel had wanted him not to. The urge to flee arose in Asra’s throat like a sob, the door so close, it would be so easy to just walk away. _Free._ An infinite wide open path, sky above him just waiting, the itch that had remained under his skin since before the plague.

That was what it had been about, hadn’t it? The ability for the magician to just leave at will, nothing and no one allowed the ability to hold him in place for long. Not a shop he had inherited. Not an amnesiac whose mind he had ruined. No silly doctors or fake nobility. Away from everyone.

Everyone he had hurt.

With the slightest grit of teeth and shift in his hips, very aware of the sudden lack of presence inside of him, the frustration poured off of him in waves. There, just at bay, the self loathing that had been dyed in bright hues of self assurance and woven into the fabric of his existence had come through, a dingy staining that laid just under the faded magic holding it together. Another sigh, pained, escaped his mouth in place of the response he could not string together.

“I’m… sorry.”

"Hrm."

_ I'm dreaming. I must be. _

This wasn't anything that had ever happened, or ever would happen. Asra was a lot, but not sorry, and if he was, he'd never say so.

For a moment, Muriel hesitated. Spread out his arms then.  _ Come here. _

The magician’s gaze, initially skeptical, wandered up the open arms. He didn’t deserve it, a conflicted step taken forward before stopping short. It wasn’t as if the walls were closing in, looking upon Muriel, Asra actually had no urge to flee. It was only forgiveness.

“I...” The magician tried again, words still tangled around the strange lump in his throat.

_ I’m sorry. _

_ I’m not worth it. _

_ I love you. _

Still, Muriel’s arms remained there, welcoming. Before the magician could tell, he had bridged the gap between them, coming to embrace the bear in full.

  
  


***

Inanna gave the hand on her head a look as Asra absently stopped petting her, inquiring eyes blinking pointedly at the sizable form of his friend before him. Firelight played through his hair as he sat next to the lounging creature. It highlighted the hope that sat just behind his gaze. The conversation had come to a pause when the magician brought up the shop. “ _I’ve missed you. It’d be nice to see each other more often now that everything’s blown over.“_ Asra had mentioned before, he still working in the shop, Muriel still holed up in the woods. The wards were useless now that Lucio was no longer a problem, but they still remained. In fact, nothing had really changed on Muriel’s end, expect for, well, Asra and him.

  
  


That led to the eventual follow up that felt like it had been a long time coming. It wasn’t a surprise, nor was it anticipated.

  
  


“Would you want to though? Move in with me?”

  
  


Long silence. Things had been a little awkward between them since the night in the palace, Asra not quite daring, and Muriel not quite daring, with touches that were more than a little casual and tender kisses, but not more,

Muriel was not used to  _ _this_ _ , this whole emotional thing, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. That his friend had hesitated to ask him for more worried him, adding to the feeling that it wasn't truly what he wanted. He wasn't the apprentice, the treasure so long hunted after and apparently so quickly forgotten, and he had a hard time getting over it.

"What about Inanna?" First things first.

“Inanna, too of course!”

  
  


Asra’s hopeful look met Muriel’s apprehension. The magician had anticipated this.

“You wouldn’t be giving up your enchantments or anything... No one even has to know you’re there.”

Muriel’s expression remained unchanged, unreadable. Asra stood up from his spot next to Inanna to step over to his oldest friend.

“It’s just, I know. I know how you feel about the shop. We spent all of that time running around in circles,” That was a way to put it. The magician placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“ _I_ spent so much time, not seeing that everything I needed, I already had,” The hand slid up to a broad shoulder, draped over a collarbone, and their eyes piercingly met.

“I never want to push you away again.”

  
  


For a brief moment, there was a flicker of hope behind the sad eyes, but that quickly vanished. "I've known you for a lifetime, Asra. You cannot stay, as little as a bird can stay during the cold. It is not in your blood."

“I’ve never had a reason to.” The words bit back too quickly, and the magician crumpled slightly, hand dropping away,

“What reason did I have to stay?” Reasoning again, Asra gestured as if all of Vesuvia were beside them.

“If it wasn’t Lucio and _the plague_ , or an amnesiac whose life _I_ ruined, sometimes me leaving... fixed things.” It was a true as it wasn’t, and both Asra and Muriel knew it. For all of the time spent actually figuring out ways to ‘fix’ things, the magician spent running away. Temper flared, Asra sighed in an attempt to rein it back in. He had forgotten what it had been like to be seen through so clearly.

“I never listened to you.”

Muriel harkened into the silence for a while after that.  _ Was he finished? _

"If you want me to stay, you need to stop lying. To the world. To yourself," he said calmly. It was as easy as that.

The fire popped, log cracking and falling as Asra slumped to sit on Muriel’s table. They sat in silence for a while more, Faust came out from a hole she had been exploring for bugs to hang out on a nearby shelf. The mood was so somber, she shivered and jumped, or more like, dropped, into the magician’s lap. Smiling weakly at her, he looked back to Muriel.

“I just wanted to keep you all safe. I ruined it.”

"You never wanted  _ just  _ anything. It was always  _ more _ ." No accusation in his friend's deep voice. He was just stating his facts.

“ That’s not true. -Yes, it’s true about magic. Not about people’s  _ lives _ . And Lucio,” Asra looked to Muriel pointedly, “He played us both for so long, he killed so many people, I had to do  _ something _ . Not ‘more’.  _ Anything _ . Would you want to go back to that?”

The word ‘Scourge’ hung in the air.

“ It wasn’t some big ploy to bring her back to replace you, Muriel, I was just trying to do  _ anything  _ to get us out.”

The magician’s tone was pleading, Faust quickly scooting off of his lap as he moved to face the stoic man beside him.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

"Start listening to what you are saying, Asra. Just once. Listen to what you are telling to somebody who has known you for so long, and who never wished you ill. Words full of ropes, and words full of spikes." A big hand stretched out for the consoling touch of Inanna's fur. She never had needed to make up excuses for herself, hurting her alpha with them.

"You are trying to catch me with big dreams that may or may not be. That is not who I am. You know it."

The magician’s demeanor collapsed, Muriel having plucked out the single thread tying it together. Muriel was not a romantic. He wasn’t even sentimental unless they were about to die, and even then the circumstances held conditions. Asra needed to get his head out of the clouds. For every moment he spent escaping, Muriel spent very much dealing with reality. He needed to see his best friend for who he was.

It was one of the rare times Muriel had made him blush, gaze tracing ashamedly away. The urge Asra had to flee in that moment spoke enough for itself. No matter how much distance he put between himself and everyone else, Muriel could, with the most gentle benevolence, pinpoint Asra’s exact blind spot. Every time.

“I’m sorry for pushing the idea.”

He couldn’t promise Muriel he wouldn’t get bored and leave. No matter how dedicated he announced himself to be in that moment, they both knew better. Asra worked better with space, as did Muriel, and here the magician was demanding less of it. And for what?

The urge to flee was replaced by one of subtle self loathing, and a deep appreciation of his closest friend. It was too painful to meet the green eyes that watched him keenly, the knowing look that spoke of wanting but never keeping. Another long moment passed as the fire burned in peace.

Not touching him, Asra shifted closer to Muriel, finally looking him in the eye.

“ You’re right. I keep trying to fit you into what I want. If you don’t want to move in together, or well,  _ us  _ together, I understand. I want... I want us to be happy. Together or not. Please, Muriel  _ please _ , let me try to do that for us? Whatever that means, I want to try.”

"I keep my place. As many days off to stay there as I need. And we get a new bed, one that is big enough for the both of us, even if it fills the room." A slight shift in the way he sat was an invitation to come over and sit  _ with  _ him.

The way the magician’s face lit up was significant as he took the offered seat.

Nodding, Asra looked about the room, as if trying to see if there was anything he was missing.

“I can improve the wards around the shop, if that’ll help?”

A nod.  _ Yes _ .

"You will find a way to contact me now and then when you're abroad again. And we're getting a shopkeep as a stand-in."

Asra sighed at that, uncomfortable with new people in the shop. Muriel was right though, if they were both going to preserve their respective freedom, shop coverage was needed. The magician finally nodded.

“I’ll cleanse the space before getting a new bed.”

Again, a nod. Reasonable, little steps.

"I scared you. Back in the palace."

Asra shrugged, although he shook his head. Paused, then sighed again, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Yes.”

"You expected a virgin." A brief smile. Muriel found a joke in this he wasn't willing to share.

“It was just…” The magician caught himself again. There was no use in sweetening his words, Muriel would see right through them.

“ I’m used to leading.” Looking directly up, he started, “Not that it was a  _ bad  _ thing.”

Again, Muriel was the only one to get a real blush out of Asra.

"You've never come to see the Scourge fight, because you could not bear it." Was this an explanation for anything?

Asra gulped, letting the air out of the room slightly upon the mention of what was virtually another life for the two of them. Not wanting to let the mood drop entirely, he clasped his hands into his lap, inscrutably peering up.

“ How would you like to do this then?” ‘This’ -  _ us _ .

"Let  _ me  _ lead for once. Be the part that receives,  not the one that gives."

How was he so calm? Not angry, not nervous, just very... _grown up_ popped up in Asra's mind. Maybe that was the right word.

Relief settled into him at the idea that, in spite of everything that had transpired, they still sat before one another. As they always had. As Asra always hoped they would.

“Muriel, I…”

The magician started, cutting himself off before he could choke on his own embarrassment.

“I trust you.”

Peeking under strands of tussled white hair, he shifted closer to the bear, pushing errant dark locks from before a deep emerald gaze. Leaning up, Asra brought his other hand to a toned shoulder, prepared to be swayed.  _ Like a slow dance. _

“Lead me?”

Muriel smiled. It was worth a try.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader,  
> this was a request we had an amazingly hard time fulfilling, and we are sorry if there's less of the in-and-out-game than usually.  
> The whole dynamic between Asra and Muriel never screamed "loving couple" or "sexual interest" to us in game - quite the opposite, really - and we feel like they need to do a lot of work to make this relationship work out - that's why there's so much emotional BS in this chapter. Once again, they kinda did their own thing, even if we tried keeping them from it ^^


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